Harvest کے بول

Dying creature giving it's last breath Warmth giving way to cold System received a command to terminate And the last strings is cut Corpse, an empty vessel Carried to the lone cliff Left there under the acrid sun For the vultures to feast upon Awakened in a strange realm Where the flames are real Behind them, in the dark Lurk creatures of the great dread Although their appearance seems strange They are very same That have been nurtured By the one they are to torment There is no escape from their claws No one will come to take them away Suffering in their horrid embrace Until they have fed enough Flowers from the seeds Now bloom in all their horror Reaping what once was sown Harvesting the bitter crop