The Scythe
On this night of nights, she's coming my way
Under this rain, dirty with agony and pain
Mistress of doom, winner of all fights
My glance is reflected in the blade of the scythe
A sparkling golden sickle
Mows down souls whistling in the air
Reddens little by little
The seas of life and mankind's lairs
A fall into the abyss
Deep into agony and pain
Spiral down to the anguish
It has been all in vain, all in vain, go
Welcome, please join the fair of failures
Enter into the hall of pleasures
Righteous the act to kill
Or wasn't it one of God's wills?
You leave behind all the trails of winter
The time has come for me to go
Though the fear has gone, the storm is over
And there's someone at your door
Another name to be carved
For every slash of my blade
Until the day you find
The one reflected is your face
Come, taste blood, rust and terror
Come to the show with no restraint
It's your time
The mother of desperation
Death of thunder and rain
Sighs and tears are all in vain
Clad in a cloak of despair
She'll take you away
Welcome, please join the fair of failures
Enter into the hall of pleasures
Righteous the act to kill
Or wasn't it one of God's wills?
You leave behind all the trails of winter
The time has come for me to go
Though the fear has gone, the storm is over
And there's someone at your door
Hold your ground and watch your back
With the aim of remaining the last
I asked this night for a piece of advice
This time the scythe won't fall, keep still
Still
Still
You leave behind all the trails of winter
The time has come for me to go
Though the fear has gone, the storm is over
And there's someone at your door
Hold your ground and watch your back
With the aim of remaining the last
I asked this night for a piece of advice
This time the scythe won't fall, keep still
You leave behind all the trails of winter
The time has come for me to go
Though the fear has gone, the storm is over
And there's someone at your door
Leave behind all the trails of winter
The time has come for me to go
Though the fear has gone, the storm is over
And there's someone at your door
And if you follow the trails down this winter wake
She's reaping down souls, one for every flake
Throughout the ages, through centuries
She, mistress of customs of memories