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Amon Amarth Miscellaneous Down The Slopes of Death Down the Slopes of Death he rides The angels pound the drums Darkness waits, the crumbling sky Immation has begun Bitter flames, quench the sky They're vast, and filled with pain A dying man, in agony And can rob a man inside A landed beach, fleeing spear The boat arrives to harm Of all the lies and the bitter fear When Hagro sounds the alarm But on the feild, winter's face Fortold, a nation's times A beast with sharp, yellow teeth And hatred burning eyes Today it draws its final breath, The wisest God of all His son will avenge his death Your battles rather went foul He knows not what, is to come The use to try and blame What is to be, let it be done What is to be, let it be done He knows not what, is to come The use to try and blame What is to be, let it be done What is to be, let it be done Today it draws its final breath, The wisest God of all His son will avenge his death Your battles rather went foul Down the Slopes of Death he rides The angels pound the drums Darkness waits, the crumbling sky Imation has begun Down the Slopes of Death we ride The angels pound the drums Darkness waits, the crumbling sky Newborn is the son |
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