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Come crumbling as the shattering of faith
He who cannot stand for his Lord will sleep forever without wake.
And among us are the faithless who long only for the glory of this world.
Among us are faithless but I am not of them
for I long only to die in His arms.
In the eyes of God I am His testament.
The wool is warm with comfort but this is coated in deception
for the sheep will soon be stripped and it will freeze without protection.
Bare blooded and ripe for failure.
This is where all are defined by His will.
Thy knees will testify, did he stand to the throne?
The pigs drown spiraling alone.
Arrogant, the goblet raise you high, the portrait of perfection.
Do you not see this pride itself is an infection?
Nigh is the hour when trumpets will close the graves
and may those who stood for their Lord rejoice, let cowards sink and settle for remorse.
On tables stretched horror stares, to rape our lungs of precious air.
Three times to the skies our hands we raise: Reverse this curse, this violent plague.
It is infectious, the dispersion of bone of the spineless.
Live like a wordless dog, may you forever remain silent.
Or stand for His throne.
Relieve the world of its infectious ailment.
In the eyes of God I am his testament.
Come crumbling for without God, one exists without meaning.
We are his testament serving as the heart and flesh.
When one part of this body aches we seek to cure its distress.
We are the testament.
The Crimson Armada
In The Eyes Of God
In The Eyes Of God
Come crumbling as the shattering of faith
He who cannot stand for his Lord will sleep forever without wake.
And among us are the faithless who long only for the glory of this world.
Among us are faithless but I am not of them
for I long only to die in His arms.
In the eyes of God I am His testament.
The wool is warm with comfort but this is coated in deception
for the sheep will soon be stripped and it will freeze without protection.
Bare blooded and ripe for failure.
This is where all are defined by His will.
Thy knees will testify, did he stand to the throne?
The pigs drown spiraling alone.
Arrogant, the goblet raise you high, the portrait of perfection.
Do you not see this pride itself is an infection?
Nigh is the hour when trumpets will close the graves
and may those who stood for their Lord rejoice, let cowards sink and settle for remorse.
On tables stretched horror stares, to rape our lungs of precious air.
Three times to the skies our hands we raise: Reverse this curse, this violent plague.
It is infectious, the dispersion of bone of the spineless.
Live like a wordless dog, may you forever remain silent.
Or stand for His throne.
Relieve the world of its infectious ailment.
In the eyes of God I am his testament.
Come crumbling for without God, one exists without meaning.
We are his testament serving as the heart and flesh.
When one part of this body aches we seek to cure its distress.
We are the testament.
