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October Falls
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The Verge of Oblivion
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
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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
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