The Misfortune Teller Lyrics

The will was lost...
In cities of the dead...
The land around them mourned...
Too lax to comprehend...

The rife of wards...
The armies in the skies...
The muddled occupied feed...
All pseudo-catholic rites...
A rise, of the dead...
The word upon our heads is "Forlorn"...
The size, of the dread...
Within our padlocked haunts we erode...

A grave mistake...
(We're) right back where we started from...
No brave escape...
It's right back here we come...
Resent yourself.

Misfortune's law...
Is sketched within our chests...
The ram's head has decided...
The sheep among us sleep...

The layman's worth...
The hole above his head...
The tyranny is clear...
The floor beneath is gone...
Rise, of the dead...
The words upon our heads is "Forlorn"...
The size, of the dread...
Within our padlocked haunts we erode...

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