October Falls
The Plague of a Coming Age
1. At The Edge Of An Empty Horizon
[Instrumental]
2. Bloodlines
First sights of uprising…
Where are the gallows for these traitors
Where are the stones to cast against
Some share regrets, some still stand tall
No shame in their eyes, no glimpse of pride
Where are the children, to be hanged among them
To harvest and erase their seed and the bloodline
Their plague of a coming age
To seek their siblings, to find their fathers
And to cut down the tree, where their betrayal seeds
Enslave their brothers and take their strength
And to gather their mothers and make them relent
Their plague of a coming age
No mercy, no tears, no remorse, only the determination
As without a struggle, there’s no victory
And without victims, there's no history
3. The Verge Of Oblivion
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
4. Snakes Of The Old World
Years defiling the purity, erasing the blood-bonds
The wisdom of the few nearly vanished
Into the winds of false liberation
Fed to the mouths in perdition’s lair
Only fools for the gods they are
Disguised behind the cross
The snakes of the old world
Those echoes of serpent tongue
Still spitting the distorted words
A crossfire of denial and truth
Aversion against the sight
The leeches in the face of the earth
Redeemers and deceivers
Only food for the gods they are
Snakes of the falling old world
Only fools for the gods they are
Disguised behind the cross
The snakes of the old world
5. The Plague Of A Coming Age
Is this my native soil or a ground for an enemy
Something to live on or something to die for
Is this my destiny or the reason to live
Something to remember or simply forget
A traitor for some, a hero for others
A brother against another
This is the plague of a coming age
Are these the monuments of tomorrow and hope
Or just a graves for the past, hanged in these ropes
Are these the unknown times or just a regressed history
Is this is the plague of a coming age?
A traitor for some, a hero for others
A brother against another
Marked with a burning steel, scarred for our fathers
This is the sign of the plague, the sign of a coming age
6. Mouth Of A Nation's Harlots
Through the mouth of a nation’s harlots
The traitors with endless lies falling behind
A distorted tongue, the origin of spiritual fall
A mouthful of poisoned ideals
All spat into face of these men
Still scarred for nothing, still bleeding in vein
Singing tunes for this dying age
Bow in front of the upcoming death
Bow for the sons of tomorrow
Only a scar for some, still a mark for an other
At the edge of an era, where the martyrs gather
Only flesh for the leaders, marching towards another
An age of redemption or an age for revenge?
Wrapped into the hopeless cross, the one that most of them bear
The voice of oblivion, screaming for the deaf ears
Bow in front of the upcoming death
Bow for the sons of tomorrow
7. Boiling Heart Of The North
The drops of rust raining down over the age of steel
Layers of dust burying the faded and motionless reels
A distorted view filled with the victims of the modern times
These endless roads, all to nowhere, only smoking ruins in sight
These men of stained soils, still roaming slowly ahead
In the crossroad of fear, dwelling in the heart of the brave
Seeking the truth from a boiling heart of the north
And feel the warm, feel the warm blood against the freezing cold
“There's no justice beyond the flash from a spear
The soil ahead is the grave, at the edge of an old north”
8. The Weight Of The Fallen
Abandoned fields at the core of the hope
That once carried the weight of the fallen
Life’s rotten tree with the last poisoned fruits
Still tempting the weakest men
The well of mankind is the womb of the earth
Bleeding the poisoned blood from the soil
Yet the roots of greed are dwelling within
In every man and at their tombs
It's the weight of the fallen
The sleigh of a thousand stones
A man without guilt is a man without sin
A brother or father, all killing their kin
Drunken by greed, harvesting same seeds
And the blood flows back to these soils
Like dead without a grave or death without sleep
The roots of greed are dwelling within
In every man, in every grave
The weight of the fallen
9. Below The Soils
There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the gods
No saviour, no redemption for the cross-bearing hearts
There are no footmarks to follow
Only the gallows in sight
This flesh is weakened and strained
Yet still roaming ahead
The tears of salt or the drops of blood
All shed from the same trees
And the roots of the scarred flesh
All spread into waste
There’s a mark, there’s an invisible scar
A sight with distorted hope, carved into stones
Written in trees, burnt into pages of history
And whether to fight or struggle in silence
To give steel or to lay in the pyres
A spear in the chest or a knife in hand
To lay below the soils or to march for these lands
The flesh is weakened and strained
Buried below the soils of the brave
Sami Hinkka ‒ Bass
M. Lehto ‒ Vocals, Guitars, Additional Instruments
Marko Tarvonen ‒ Drums
Lyrics in plain text format
