Eyes Of The Dead — Nocturnal Rites

A mind of its own, spawn out of fire The demon becomes a God A child, two-faced and innocent Transcending Control, fragments of nothing Enslaving, reversed humane Empires made out of nothing but air Creation fails

Hungry he laughs at us all Sacred is noyhing no more

In the eyes of the dead, at the edge of the night In an oath of blood we are sacred In the eyes of the dead, still nothing revealed The wounds they still bleed, and won't heal

Blood in the sands, slaves to the hunger Heaven denies them all A god, a dome for its pleasures and lust Possession The falls prophets of nothing Promise but take it back The one, the futile and venomous son Will torture