Gotta send a new dirge

When relics become poppies down the torrent

When time has never left the grassland unstained

The blade is soaring, flashing coldly in the gale

The souls crying blood on the ruins cried their tales

God is asleep and sees all beings only in dreams

The smell of death lingers in the hotbed of stupor

As the fiery sun tore through the night

When blurred rouge cruise through the abyss and icebergs

Can't see a new dawn

As mortals believed in capturing a fleeting revelation

Assuming the doom to rest forever for some other

Would be the boon to themselves

Imbibing canteens of whiskey

With the crown of thorns of lethal intoxication ahead

Falling for the primitive temptation of annihilation

As waving the flag and shouting

some restless spirits throbbing 

as they become fresh wine for God