Old Season The Mission
The autumn's vice on dregs of life has past
While roundabout the hills the snow drives fast
The mercenary slips his lair
And grappled in his hands there bears
The solitary hope of nations thralled
Wherefore comes this titan of men?
The seas lie in wait for his ships of stealth
'Cross monstrous waves of seething crests
And ocean vales of uneasy rest
Ne'er terror nor lust shall ever waylay
Tempestuous gales these masts will outstand
And hold steadfast 'til death or land
Ferried aloft the standard's face is revealed
And borne upon the winds of a godless zeal
He forges on through the perpetual dark
And closes in on the ancient ark
Where the fame of erstwhile heroes's stored
And all cherished tales of battlelore
The sceptre wrench'd from the master's hand
Argentine skies below he stands
Ferried aloft the standard's face is revealed
And borne upon the winds of a godless zeal
He forges on through the perpetual dark
And closes in on the ancient ark
Where the fame of erstwhile heroes's stored
And all cherished tales of battlelore
The sceptre wrench'd from the master's hand
Argentine skies below he stands
Primordial mores are all but lost
The latter days know nothing of the cost
Insipid lives of lifeless men
Their doctrine's claim on penitence
Doth rules the weakest minds of those not freed
Ensanguined spoils of crusades' toils are fixed
To pietism's clasp on those betwixt the amalgam of gods
and men
Our mercenary strives to rend
Anathematic bonds of theists' call, for one an all
The faithless one shall never fall
The faithless one shall never fall
