The Verge of Oblivion - October Falls

Stained, scarred and restrained

Roaming towards the edge of existence

Failed, relented and enslaved

At the edge of their faith

In the verge of men turning into slaves

Behold the mouth of oblivion

And the endless void of horizon ahead

Behold the mortal coil

And the stained, forgotten and reaped soil

The road leads to nowhere, there’s no liberation

A fallen ideal, no saviour in sight, still no regrets

As the aim is carved within

Like scars from the past, a heritage of a northern wrath

The soil ahead is the coming cold grave

Yet still fighting at the verge of oblivion

With a fate for the coming dawn