Life is but a small game,
Revealing the strange fame
Of the Undertakers,
Who rule the fate,
And yet,within that shrine
Rises a bloody flame.
You're feeding from my Unreal
I see thee clear,
As you're playing shah...matt.
The Undertakers will fall,
Red's forces shall crawl,
The whites will call this
The end of the game.
Nay;t'is not the end
Of the Race.
Whites could only defend
Their ruined castle.
Oh dear,
What do I hear?
This cruel fate is whispering,
These strange visions are haunting.
Why us my Lord?
By screams,I feel,
Mourning will be here.
The Sisterhood,
The Brotherhood...
They will arise-they will tear
The old orders out,
And they will turn
The whole world upside-down.
Is this a bitter mockery,
Of what we are?
Or is this just a simple game,
Of a part that we not are? |
