Cult of a Dying Sun

Confined in hopeless valleys
 Stricken with vast veil of shadow
 No light will reach beyond these mountains
 There's more comfort to be found among gallows
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 We're lost within the pitch of gleam
 As night-tide piles the dead ashore
 The breathless laugh in the face of dreams
 And the subsisting smirk midst scaling banks of gore
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 Decomposing tower
 Self-generating cadaverous gate to abaddon
 Lining lungs with azure plage
 All will succumb to putrefaction
 And we crawl higher, over the dying
 Without remorse, for life we're praying
 And we push forward, we march on
 Into nothing, where we belong
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 Into nothing, where we belong
 And we push forward, we march on
 Into nothing, where we belong...