Crimson Rivers

In the twilight's glow, where the crimson rivers flow,
A tale of woe, where the bloodied waters grow.
Through the valleys deep, where the lost souls weep,
The rivers run red, secrets they keep.

Crimson rivers, flow with might,
Through the heart of darkness, into the night.
Carrying the stories, of the forsaken light,
Crimson rivers, a metal sight.

Beneath the moon's pale stare, a reflection of despair,
The rivers' surface, a canvas bare.
Painted with the lives, that once were rife,
Now mere memories, in the water's strife.

Guitars scream, like the raging streams,
Drums crash, like the broken dreams.
Bass thunders, as the night redeems,
In the metal's grip, the river gleams.

Crimson rivers, in the night's embrace,
Flowing with power, a relentless chase.
Echoing the screams, of a bygone race,
Crimson rivers, leave no trace.

As the dawn approaches, the rivers fade,
But in our minds, the memories are made.
For in the metal's call, the rivers wade,
And in the crimson flow, our fears allayed.
