Coffinspire: Multitudes, Multitudes in the Valley of Decision
Cory Brandan Putman
They rest on the coast and the tide is impending
We pull at the motionless and static
But the torrent has crowned their heads.
It fills their ears and it makes them ill.
They do not struggle at all
This will speak of the end, and will not prove false
It is time to move on with the weapons of faith and love
Synchronize your steps to the sound of guns.
This world is damned to hell and it's a revelation.
And this is a shallow grave, and it's on the highest ride.
We stand on its highest crest
I'll set myself on fire come on, watch me burn.
Poisoned now enough to kill ten hundred men
The harvester's mouth has not gone dry.