Iced Earth

On the plains of the desert
A murmured cry was heard
From the echoes of a wind song
Singing of a word
The word of the land begotten
Is very seldom taught
To natives of the desert
Which tribes of old have sought
Way up in the sky the sun is burning bright
All the natives screaming, screaming to be free
The teachings of a wasted life and a darker death
The burning sun is turning black falling from the sky
[Bridge]
As the moon fades away
And the sun turns black