Paroles de More Bitter Than Death
I refuse to shudder in the face of sacrifice.Undying, the legacy of truth shines through adversity.
The furnace of affliction could not absolve it.
And you in your high-chair comfort,
stagnant thoughts, the accolades of arrogance -
wear them like a crown
Heart painted scarlet,
and your followers follow you down.
Now drown in your contradictions turned religion
Consumed by the grave.
For Death is to feed on these things.
And more, the power which they've given you will still surcease.
Still more bitter than death is to walk in silence,
is to die discontent,
is to gaze in the eyes of your Maker,
and to feel no love, only resentment.
This, more bitter than death itself.
I've seen the face of redemption, and I've closed my eyes.
I've felt the hand of grace mend my broken heart.
I've pierced my Savior's side with deceit and lies.
In the midst of betrayal, still repentance waits.
And this I resolved within myself: My adversary will no longer be my master.
For this I weep bitterly in the night.
I sought shelter in sleep, but sleep is restless without hope
I looked for a thread of hope,
but he was frail, frayed, fabric.
Slowly wearing, I have no use for remorse, save for learning.
Slowly wearing, I have no use for remorse, yet it consumes me
and your followers follow you down.
Now drown in your contradictions turned religion
Consumed by the grave.
For Death is to feed on these things.
And more, the power which they've given you will still surcease.
Still more bitter than death is to walk in silence,
is to die discontent,
is to gaze in the eyes of your Maker,
and to feel no love, only resentment.
This, more bitter than death itself.
I've seen the face of redemption, and I've closed my eyes.
I've felt the hand of grace mend my broken heart.
I've pierced my Savior's side with deceit and lies.
In the midst of betrayal, still repentance waits.
And this I resolved within myself: My adversary will no longer be my master.
For this I weep bitterly in the night.
I sought shelter in sleep, but sleep is restless without hope
I looked for a thread of hope,
but he was frail, frayed, fabric.
Slowly wearing, I have no use for remorse, save for learning.
Slowly wearing, I have no use for remorse, yet it consumes me
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