Lords, can it be mistakes throughout the constant vows of the lost and gone, blind and wrong 
Inside a faith without a home, a fire that is cold, but grows so well, who's to tell? 
About it all. 
A nation cannot see, the hardestt part to take is not for me, the dying trees. 
This is what wars are made of 
Haunted The readings cracked and grey and plagerized to date 
Altered by the bastards of pure disguise of seas and skies 
The pagan drums should wake 
The sleeping of the fools to forget the churches language 
Who's the fool me or you? 
The greatest mask of fate 
The longest battle throught the text of great predictiors 
For me and you, the old and new 
This is what wars are made of