Deprive the poor of their change
Setting traps to make them think they've found a meal
No tools nor might could pry these coins
Nor prayers reverse thy sin
I lay back so high believing the magic ball between my hands is real
Adrift above the lines
East to west I stopped before a snow-covered road
Seek the Elder's advice
A trumpet to the face couldn't wake his soul
Riding on avoiding peril
Unsure of this sanctuary
Halls of ice resound my lies
Exile me from my own mind
I'll live to see my brothers on the road again
On the forthcoming Tombs album "All Empires Fall," the band expands their scope and range, balancing brutal riffs with melancholy melodies. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 29, 2016