Festivals of atonement

I am the prophet of the end of days*
I was there at the birth of man
And i shall dig your shallow grave
A light is in the air with the sounds of war

No more autumn leaves drifting upon the air
Nor winter frost the ground to make bare
Nought but cannibal sun and corroding sand
Such is my vision
Your fate is written in stone
An ark you may construct
Only to see it swallowed by the earth
And carried to the deepest of hells

All hope is lost
In the shadows of fate
Grasp thy sword and curse the sea
As the rising tide draws ever closer

Ye idle man my words you did not heed
Shall see your world sundered as a raft amidst the storm

All hope is lost
In the shadows of fate
Grasp thy sword and curse the sea
As the rising tide draws ever closer

All hope is lost
In the shadows of fate
Grasp thy sword and curse the sea
As the rising tide draws ever closer

This is a season - a season of tears
Embrace the winds - embrace winds of war