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