Lords, can it be mistakes throughout the constant vows of the lost and gone, blind and wrong Inside a faith without a home, a fire that is cold, but grows so well, who's to tell? About it all. A nation cannot see, the hardestt part to take is not for me, the dying trees. This is what wars are made of Haunted The readings cracked and grey and plagerized to date Altered by the bastards of pure disguise of seas and skies The pagan drums should wake The sleeping of the fools to forget the churches language Who's the fool me or you? The greatest mask of fate The longest battle throught the text of great predictiors For me and you, the old and new This is what wars are made of
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