I beg of the lord, the truth be told
There are no wardens stolen from the doom beyond
Only slowly mourning, stabs that are heart stopping
Of our greatest falling, this embarks the earth
They remain the seals, the six cosmic signals

The dead flock is built, the army
That's falling down into a storm
(Falling down into a storm)
(Falling down into a storm)
Harvest souls! Risible taunts of tireless gulps
Harvest souls! Threat the momentary death

People run from the light moving slowly out
They don't interfere with their damning soul
Feeding in the dark, there they will reside
The warlord made of darts knows the sealing of things

The dead flock is built, the army
That's falling down into a storm
(Falling down into a storm)
(Falling down into a storm)
Harvest souls! Risible taunts of tireless gulps
Harvest souls! Threat the momentary death