Sons Of The Moribund

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Vale of Amonition

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Weary sons
Your day arrives
Dripping with old world blood
Your father's overhanging demise
Begs a ritual
Asks a pointless exercise

To come to terms
To eulogize
Oh life
Is yours to define

By-and-by
The day arrives
Oh death
Is yours to realize

The absence of warmth in his words
Speaks to how deep he's died
Your father rots where he once throve
His blood shirks the iron it once knew

Vilest heart
Songless mind
Oh father
Sleep you must

Slandering tongues
Heir apparents
Oh sons
Pray you must

Oh Lord God
Why have you forsaken me
Oh Lord
That I must be at the mercy
Of all this greed ancient

It rains, it pours
Its spoils and its horrors
His years profound
And dark and hard

The voice, the host
Of progress and ghosts
His years profound
And dark and hard

Verily through a songless time
Of flaying all he dared to love
He whittles right before your eyes
His widow broken where he dies

This onerous name
Remains his stain
Our very life
Not ours to define

To end the sound
Of broken vows
Our father's death
We've realized

And tonight his blood
It toils no more
And the scorn he spun
It turns no more

And his sons and their sons
Will surely bury him
And into their dreams
Will surely carry him

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