Texty piesní Conducting From The Grave

Conducting From The Grave

Burdens Of A Dying World

The land now cast into darkness, a riptide of plagues in

its wake. Here is your purity in our childrens hands.

Empty eye sockets reflect of burnt out stars and hollow

graves. Everything becomes nothing sooner or later. Its

when the piece doesn't fit that all hell breaks loose.

Your legends crumble beginning with their foundations.

The wind carries their pleas to our ears. A society on

broken knees screaming to a god who doesn't care. Build

and build we'll bury the past before day. You've jumped

in too soon and broken your neck. Exile is the only

breath you'll catch around here. Time is running out. The

weight is becoming unbearable. If only their was a way to

go back, reverse the damage and heal the broken. Maybe

then the tables will turn and the victims will control

the wrath. Every structure for miles is collapsing,

leaving them to pick up the pieces. Pull back the sky,

let the sun flourish. Blind eyes haven't seen dead stars

in decades. Bring the flood. Wash away every impurity.