October Falls
The Plague of a Coming Age

1. At The Edge Of An Empty Horizon


2. Bloodlines

First sights of uprising…

Where are the gallows for these traitors
Where are the stones to cast against
Some share regrets, some still stand tall
No shame in their eyes, no glimpse of pride

Where are the children, to be hanged among them
To harvest and erase their seed and the bloodline

Their plague of a coming age

To seek their siblings, to find their fathers
And to cut down the tree, where their betrayal seeds
Enslave their brothers and take their strength
And to gather their mothers and make them relent

Their plague of a coming age

No mercy, no tears, no remorse, only the determination

As without a struggle, there’s no victory
And without victims, there's no history

3. The Verge Of Oblivion

Stained, scarred and restrained
Roaming towards the edge of existence
Failed, relented and enslaved
At the edge of their faith

In the verge of men turning into slaves

Behold the mouth of oblivion
And the endless void of horizon ahead
Behold the mortal coil
And the stained, forgotten and reaped soil

The road leads to nowhere, there’s no liberation

A fallen ideal, no saviour in sight, still no regrets
As the aim is carved within
Like scars from the past, a heritage of a northern wrath

The soil ahead is the coming cold grave

Yet still fighting at the verge of oblivion
With a fate for the coming dawn

4. Snakes Of The Old World

Years defiling the purity, erasing the blood-bonds
The wisdom of the few nearly vanished

Into the winds of false liberation
Fed to the mouths in perdition’s lair
Only fools for the gods they are
Disguised behind the cross

The snakes of the old world

Those echoes of serpent tongue
Still spitting the distorted words
A crossfire of denial and truth
Aversion against the sight

The leeches in the face of the earth
Redeemers and deceivers
Only food for the gods they are
Snakes of the falling old world

Only fools for the gods they are
Disguised behind the cross

The snakes of the old world

5. The Plague Of A Coming Age

Is this my native soil or a ground for an enemy
Something to live on or something to die for
Is this my destiny or the reason to live
Something to remember or simply forget

A traitor for some, a hero for others
A brother against another

This is the plague of a coming age

Are these the monuments of tomorrow and hope
Or just a graves for the past, hanged in these ropes
Are these the unknown times or just a regressed history
Is this is the plague of a coming age?

A traitor for some, a hero for others
A brother against another

Marked with a burning steel, scarred for our fathers
This is the sign of the plague, the sign of a coming age

6. Mouth Of A Nation's Harlots

Through the mouth of a nation’s harlots
The traitors with endless lies falling behind
A distorted tongue, the origin of spiritual fall

A mouthful of poisoned ideals
All spat into face of these men
Still scarred for nothing, still bleeding in vein
Singing tunes for this dying age

Bow in front of the upcoming death
Bow for the sons of tomorrow

Only a scar for some, still a mark for an other
At the edge of an era, where the martyrs gather
Only flesh for the leaders, marching towards another
An age of redemption or an age for revenge?

Wrapped into the hopeless cross, the one that most of them bear
The voice of oblivion, screaming for the deaf ears

Bow in front of the upcoming death
Bow for the sons of tomorrow

7. Boiling Heart Of The North

The drops of rust raining down over the age of steel
Layers of dust burying the faded and motionless reels

A distorted view filled with the victims of the modern times
These endless roads, all to nowhere, only smoking ruins in sight

These men of stained soils, still roaming slowly ahead
In the crossroad of fear, dwelling in the heart of the brave

Seeking the truth from a boiling heart of the north
And feel the warm, feel the warm blood against the freezing cold

“There's no justice beyond the flash from a spear
The soil ahead is the grave, at the edge of an old north”

8. The Weight Of The Fallen

Abandoned fields at the core of the hope
That once carried the weight of the fallen
Life’s rotten tree with the last poisoned fruits
Still tempting the weakest men

The well of mankind is the womb of the earth
Bleeding the poisoned blood from the soil
Yet the roots of greed are dwelling within
In every man and at their tombs

It's the weight of the fallen
The sleigh of a thousand stones

A man without guilt is a man without sin
A brother or father, all killing their kin
Drunken by greed, harvesting same seeds
And the blood flows back to these soils

Like dead without a grave or death without sleep
The roots of greed are dwelling within
In every man, in every grave

The weight of the fallen

9. Below The Soils

There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the gods
No saviour, no redemption for the cross-bearing hearts

There are no footmarks to follow
Only the gallows in sight

This flesh is weakened and strained
Yet still roaming ahead

The tears of salt or the drops of blood
All shed from the same trees
And the roots of the scarred flesh
All spread into waste

There’s a mark, there’s an invisible scar
A sight with distorted hope, carved into stones
Written in trees, burnt into pages of history

And whether to fight or struggle in silence
To give steel or to lay in the pyres
A spear in the chest or a knife in hand
To lay below the soils or to march for these lands

The flesh is weakened and strained
Buried below the soils of the brave

Sami Hinkka ‒ Bass
M. Lehto ‒ Vocals, Guitars, Additional Instruments
Marko Tarvonen ‒ Drums

Lyrics in plain text format

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