The Heretic's Age - Primordial

Soiled hands of work, to pit a nations fall

Skeletal hands upon the coffers of the old world

Ghosts of men, re-writing history

Red ink, from the well of martyrdom

Words to drip from the traitors tongues

Waging a war between the crimson lines

The old heart of the earth

Divided, poisoned, ready for the fall

Valiant men, made to wear the devils mask

The scapegoats for a new age

Such words will bear the fruit of flesh

(Today's innocence)

Tomorrows finger on the trigger

So, who heralds the grace of fallen empires?

Hymns to the ruination of majesty

He who inherits the dark crown of ill will

The scorn of those deemed righteous men

The gauntlet thrown, the baton tossed

By statute, by law, by divine decree

Impositions as kindling to the fire

The old heart is beating, with ancient blood