Here at the edge of this world Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone If this grand pa

Here at the edge of this world Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone If this grand panorama before me is what you call God… Then God is not dead I walked down to a river and sat in reflection of what had to be done An offering of crimson flowed into the water below A wound of spirit from which it floated and faded away like every hope I’ve ever had… like every dream I’ve ever known… It washed away in a tide of longing, a longing for a better world From my will, my throat, to the river, and into the sea… wash away… fade away… As I’m stalked by the shadow of death’s hand My heathen pride is scarred across the land -- source link

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