Against The Grain (In Vain)

An outright war Rage in our lands As nations collide For reign and might Cities set ablaze By torches at night Bodies torn by plagues, Left to rot Vultures drawing near In the mountains at night Wolves howl Red moon falls on the horizon Towards the beckoning end And the wait for redemption at hand Harvest of dead seeds Burning crops of disease Barren soil in the vast landscape Burning sky Falling from grace Families in exile Leaving broken homes Plundered by marauders In the search for gold Cities set ablaze By torches at night Bodies torn by plagues Left to rot Doom descends upon our lands Our outlook is bleak Wastelands Flowing with the moving wind On a pathway to the sun An incarnation of the icon Transcend into the atmosphere