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Wet Fire Cotton

de Dead Voices On Air

Wrath: The village is scared,
The fire is burning through streets of the fair.
A torch to pillage the rich,
Demanding their refuge in a time of despair.

Nightfall: Asleep & the sound
Of swords leaving sheaths to execute their might.
Their lives will end with a knife,
The toiled will jugulate all of whom in sight
The toiled will jugulate all of whom

Is there no one who can be saved?
Ear to ear they run their blades.
Digging their claws in the depraved.
Ancestors spinning in their graves.

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