Ancient Sands (Rot Preacher)

Convoy reduced to utter decay
Eyes encrusted
Blind men search for a thoroughfare
Finding ourselves
Between sand and void

We speak in tongues
Solidified in the illusions of motion
Peripheral stigmatism

Unscathed, unaware
Stitched into the fabric of existence

Who then is wiser?
The leaden veteran who's foresight failed
Or the pallid youth who knows now
These wounds are not the type to heal

Fucked pilgrimage
Cursed lineage

Bodies beg the ancient sands
Accept surrender, become one
Kneel where the Rot Preacher stands