Lyrics:

Lords, can it be mistakes Throughout the constant vows of the lost and gone, blind and wrong Inside a faith without a home, a fire that is cold But grows so well, who's to tell, about it all A nation cannot see, the hardest part to take Is not for me, the dying trees This is what wars are made of Haunted... The readings cracked and grey and plagiarized to date Altered by the bastards of pure disguise of seas and skies The pagan drums should wake, the sleeping of the fools to forget the church's language Who's the fool, me or you The greatest mask of fate, the longest battle through the text of great predictions For me and you, the old and new This is what wars are made of Haunted...