The Plague of a Coming Age
This track is instrumental.
First sights of uprising… Where are the gallows for these traitors Where are the stones to cast against Some share regrets, some still stand tall No shame in their eyes, no glimpse of pride Where are the children, to be hanged among them To harvest and erase their seed and the bloodline Their plague of a coming age To seek their siblings, to find their fathers And to cut down the tree, where their betrayal seeds Enslave their brothers and take their strength And to gather their mothers and make them relent Their plague of a coming age No mercy, no tears, no remorse, only the determination As without a struggle, there’s no victory And without victims, there's no history
Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 25, 2025
Stained, scarred and restrained Roaming towards the edge of existence Failed, relented and enslaved At the edge of their faith In the verge of men turning into slaves Behold the mouth of oblivion And the endless void of horizon ahead Behold the mortal coil And the stained, forgotten and reaped soil The road leads to nowhere, there’s no liberation A fallen ideal, no saviour in sight, still no regrets As the aim is carved within Like scars from the past, a heritage of a northern wrath The soil ahead is the coming cold grave Yet still fighting at the verge of oblivion With a fate for the coming dawn
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 25, 2025
Years defiling the purity, erasing the blood-bonds The wisdom of the few nearly vanished Into the winds of false liberation Fed to the mouths in perdition’s lair Only fools for the gods they are Disguised behind the cross The snakes of the old world Those echoes of serpent tongue Still spitting the distorted words A crossfire of denial and truth Aversion against the sight The leeches in the face of the earth Redeemers and deceivers Only food for the gods they are Snakes of the falling old world Only fools for the gods they are Disguised behind the cross The snakes of the old world
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 25, 2025
Is this my native soil or a ground for an enemy Something to live on or something to die for Is this my destiny or the reason to live Something to remember or simply forget A traitor for some, a hero for others A brother against another This is the plague of a coming age Are these the monuments of tomorrow and hope Or just a graves for the past, hanged in these ropes Are these the unknown times or just a regressed history Is this is the plague of a coming age? A traitor for some, a hero for others A brother against another Marked with a burning steel, scarred for our fathers This is the sign of the plague, the sign of a coming age
Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025
Through the mouth of a nation’s harlots The traitors with endless lies falling behind A distorted tongue, the origin of spiritual fall A mouthful of poisoned ideals All spat into face of these men Still scarred for nothing, still bleeding in vein Singing tunes for this dying age Bow in front of the upcoming death Bow for the sons of tomorrow Only a scar for some, still a mark for an other At the edge of an era, where the martyrs gather Only flesh for the leaders, marching towards another An age of redemption or an age for revenge? Wrapped into the hopeless cross, the one that most of them bear The voice of oblivion, screaming for the deaf ears Bow in front of the upcoming death Bow for the sons of tomorrow
Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025
The drops of rust raining down over the age of steel Layers of dust burying the faded and motionless reels A distorted view filled with the victims of the modern times These endless roads, all to nowhere, only smoking ruins in sight These men of stained soils, still roaming slowly ahead In the crossroad of fear, dwelling in the heart of the brave Seeking the truth from a boiling heart of the north And feel the warm, feel the warm blood against the freezing cold “There's no justice beyond the flash from a spear The soil ahead is the grave, at the edge of an old north”
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 25, 2025
Abandoned fields at the core of the hope That once carried the weight of the fallen Life’s rotten tree with the last poisoned fruits Still tempting the weakest men The well of mankind is the womb of the earth Bleeding the poisoned blood from the soil Yet the roots of greed are dwelling within In every man and at their tombs It's the weight of the fallen The sleigh of a thousand stones A man without guilt is a man without sin A brother or father, all killing their kin Drunken by greed, harvesting same seeds And the blood flows back to these soils Like dead without a grave or death without sleep The roots of greed are dwelling within In every man, in every grave The weight of the fallen
Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025
There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the gods No saviour, no redemption for the cross-bearing hearts There are no footmarks to follow Only the gallows in sight This flesh is weakened and strained Yet still roaming ahead The tears of salt or the drops of blood All shed from the same trees And the roots of the scarred flesh All spread into waste There’s a mark, there’s an invisible scar A sight with distorted hope, carved into stones Written in trees, burnt into pages of history And whether to fight or struggle in silence To give steel or to lay in the pyres A spear in the chest or a knife in hand To lay below the soils or to march for these lands The flesh is weakened and strained Buried below the soils of the brave
Submitted by The Void — Apr 25, 2025