Amidst the carrion our stomachs churn
Time is the fire in which we burn
With heads unbowed to flags worn and frayed
To our dissent we cling to
In sadness and sorrow we crawl through
As we count down to our end of days enslaved

With our hands over our head
We are the walking woundead
We are the voices of the vicious history
Our canticle swells through prison cells
We are the shadows of ourselves
We are the voices of the vicious history

As heavens fall our voices soar
Of melancholy burdons bore
Infests the night and enrobes our darkest days
Torn by time
Drowned in tears
We rise like lions without fears
With hearts that harbour hope
As our shadows fade away

In shadows and despair
Our voices rise on aching air
Burning flags raised to our unrest
We're swarming
Crawling to infest

We are the voices of the vicious history

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