In the dead of night the kings promise was made
I will return to hold you once again
The herald of warhorns harkened from the north
Taking all who swore their blood to an oath

In the throes of war committing the most greivious of sins
As the shrieking of widows was carried upon the wind
Though kept in shadows his darkened deeds remained
The eyes of the old ones remain ever trained

Humanity sundered
Abolished from the mortal plane

How could he have known that
Each wound inflicted condemned his own soul
His crimes would forever haunt him
As the shackles of his arcane hold

Oh how the fear of death can transform the purest man's soul
And how swiftly then does his blade-hand reach for the sword

Before the hordes set flame to his golden plains
The innocence of harvest was naught but of grain
Trading his soul for vengeance, upon the ramparts he stood
Carving a fleshed swathe, Sowing the earth with their blood

Astral imprisonment
Captive shell of the human mind
Astral imprisonment
Ageless tomb abandoned in time

Enslaved to the calling of his transgressions
He dwells within the stone walls of his own mind

Still she did wait for him until her last breath
Withering away as his words did so long ago.