Woorden: Dismember. Where Ironcrosses Grow. As the Coins Upon Your Eyes.

The sands of time are slipping through your fingers
Life's bitter journey, towards the end



Pass the threshold and beyond
Your time has come
With a conscience cold as the coins upon your eyes




Leave your earthly form behind
Across the seas of blood, to shores of the damned, nothingness surrounds now

Wear the flesh of fallen angels
Burning in this void, cleansed and remolded, stripped of a sinful past

A life of misery and pain, has come to it's end


Cast aside the flesh that binds you, what you want you shall become after death
All is black, all light has faded, howling demons tear your mind to shreds