The world has come to its end 

Hope has stopped to have a meaning 

Cities are being expunged 

Sharpnel is making music.

Meadows are stained with the blood of innocence 

And the dead people are marching in the streets of damned cities

Through the brume of prominence.

It's a gloomy world 

The sky full of mist 

Lead me to the fringe of transience ...