Primordial

A cold wind is blowing
Through the graves it is blowing
And it bares a poisoned tongue
And the foul breath of deceit
I am my fathers son
And his deeds
Cannot be undone... be undone
You trade in his blood
Writing your history
In the sacrifices of the dead
Where is the fighting man?
Am I he?
You would trade every truth
For hollow victories
Every empire will fall
Every monument crumble
Forgotten men who watch the centuries
Whose silent words
Rise up in betrayal