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(huuuhhh) The skies turn to lead and the shadows grow long
We stand on the edge where the weary belong
No shelter in sight,
the slow march has begun
We pull down the curtain and block out the sun
We are the ones who create the doom
Carving our names in the silent room
We raise the dust from the barren floor
We are the end at the final door (oohhhh)
The soil is frozen,
the rivers run dry A chorus of dust under a copper sky
No echoes remain of the promises made We walk in the dark,
completely unafraid
We create the doom (ahhhh)