Ghosts Of Grace

Blake Judd / Chris Black

The allys of hell where we wonder
What's eternal, now it begins
The fate of the earth, where we were born
No last echo, pull the plug


And the storm left nothing
And the storm left all
And the storm took nothing
And the storm took all


The winds of disease burn your fields
So unhallowed, so unclean
The face of extinction raw and pestilent
White with terror, tainted eyes


And the storm left nothing
And the storm left all
And the storm took nothing
And the storm took all


The ghosts of grace want your bones
Your spirit left for dead
The cause of the mourning, lay in grace
Like nations raped with praise


And the storm left nothing
And the storm left all
And the storm took nothing
And the storm took all

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