Where the night shroud falls upon the rolling hills, Where in endless dusk the barren waste is still. In blind stained glass, a dead light softly hides, On the dust of the departed, a chapel resides. A line of unseen shadows softly moves along, Who lived without goodness, who never knew love’s song. With a delayed prayer, they fall upon their knees, In a desperate last attempt to wash away their deeds. Through the valley of death by the river of oblivion, Lost souls wander in the dark, seeking light, (Waiting for salvation from above) In desperate hope for redemption and peace, Only in their own filth will they meet their divine decree. (Meet their divine decree) The granite doors stand open wide before their eyes, By their earthly deeds, worthy of holy shrines: Golden crosses covered in black mold and decay, And in the prayer cup — wormwood and poison lay. Their silent prayers meet only stone and wall, Here the surfaces are scribed with empty words for all, What they sowed in life — they reap it long and slow, In the chapel that they built by themselves below. Through the valley of death by the river of oblivion, Lost souls wander in the dark, seeking light, (Waiting for salvation from above) In desperate hope for redemption and peace, Only in their own filth will they meet their divine decree. (Meet their divine decree)
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