Between The Gardens That Bathe In Blood

Glass taints the surface where gods cry and souls decay. Shadows hang

themselves to escape this place they've made. Don't worry my children,

this is hell. Our souls are faced with damnation. Blood soaked gardens

bound for death, to kill or be killed. They will smile in their

disparity in battle. In the fields of sorrow a corpse stands alone.

Childrens' mothers pray for their safety and return, knowing that they are dead.

Glass taints the surface where gods cry and souls decay. Shadows hang

themselves to escape this place they've made. Don't worry my children.