| Song | The Sound, The Flood, The Hour |
| Artist | The Crimson Armada |
| Album | Guardians |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Crimson Armada | |
| God give me strength, you know I need it. | |
| Say "Submit to me!" And I'll concede. | |
| And when the crow rusts, water will follow in combust. | |
| The veins of pride pump strong with the the blood of scarecrows. | |
| A cavity so fills, a likened tar is the stain of poisoned arrows. | |
| Straight through the soul of man. | |
| God remind these people of what they're in. | |
| God give me strength you know I need it. | |
| Pray for mercy. | |
| So beg the pedestal to shine between each shoulder blade | |
| and slip a card of arrogant remains. | |
| The mark of a titan bore silver, belted, strained the neck | |
| and made us giants but we stand as nothing but crumbling stones. | |
| The seventh circle is well reserved | |
| for those who falsified God's words. | |
| Fall to your knees. | |
| So beg. | |
| Pray for mercy. | |
| In the eve of the hour all will beg | |
| and pray for mercy. | |
| So wave the banner high, | |
| nigh is the hour of the flood. | |
| Pray, tell the tale of your pride and may we drown in our blood. | |
| Safeguard and hold fast the pages | |
| that save us from a temperament of void. | |
| To only you, oh Holy One, I submit my voice. | |
| God give me strength, you know I need it. | |
| Up to your neck in timeless, mindless, sightless, blind confided, | |
| blight of the wired shine of pride, | |
| you barely breathe | |
| with the glare of certain death | |
| ticking and emitting the sound, the flood, the hour. | |
| Take a second and beg, pray for mercy. | |
| So fall to your knees and pray for mercy. | |
| Fall to your knees and pray for mercy. |
| zuo qu : Crimson Armada | |
| God give me strength, you know I need it. | |
| Say " Submit to me!" And I' ll concede. | |
| And when the crow rusts, water will follow in combust. | |
| The veins of pride pump strong with the the blood of scarecrows. | |
| A cavity so fills, a likened tar is the stain of poisoned arrows. | |
| Straight through the soul of man. | |
| God remind these people of what they' re in. | |
| God give me strength you know I need it. | |
| Pray for mercy. | |
| So beg the pedestal to shine between each shoulder blade | |
| and slip a card of arrogant remains. | |
| The mark of a titan bore silver, belted, strained the neck | |
| and made us giants but we stand as nothing but crumbling stones. | |
| The seventh circle is well reserved | |
| for those who falsified God' s words. | |
| Fall to your knees. | |
| So beg. | |
| Pray for mercy. | |
| In the eve of the hour all will beg | |
| and pray for mercy. | |
| So wave the banner high, | |
| nigh is the hour of the flood. | |
| Pray, tell the tale of your pride and may we drown in our blood. | |
| Safeguard and hold fast the pages | |
| that save us from a temperament of void. | |
| To only you, oh Holy One, I submit my voice. | |
| God give me strength, you know I need it. | |
| Up to your neck in timeless, mindless, sightless, blind confided, | |
| blight of the wired shine of pride, | |
| you barely breathe | |
| with the glare of certain death | |
| ticking and emitting the sound, the flood, the hour. | |
| Take a second and beg, pray for mercy. | |
| So fall to your knees and pray for mercy. | |
| Fall to your knees and pray for mercy. |
| zuò qǔ : Crimson Armada | |
| God give me strength, you know I need it. | |
| Say " Submit to me!" And I' ll concede. | |
| And when the crow rusts, water will follow in combust. | |
| The veins of pride pump strong with the the blood of scarecrows. | |
| A cavity so fills, a likened tar is the stain of poisoned arrows. | |
| Straight through the soul of man. | |
| God remind these people of what they' re in. | |
| God give me strength you know I need it. | |
| Pray for mercy. | |
| So beg the pedestal to shine between each shoulder blade | |
| and slip a card of arrogant remains. | |
| The mark of a titan bore silver, belted, strained the neck | |
| and made us giants but we stand as nothing but crumbling stones. | |
| The seventh circle is well reserved | |
| for those who falsified God' s words. | |
| Fall to your knees. | |
| So beg. | |
| Pray for mercy. | |
| In the eve of the hour all will beg | |
| and pray for mercy. | |
| So wave the banner high, | |
| nigh is the hour of the flood. | |
| Pray, tell the tale of your pride and may we drown in our blood. | |
| Safeguard and hold fast the pages | |
| that save us from a temperament of void. | |
| To only you, oh Holy One, I submit my voice. | |
| God give me strength, you know I need it. | |
| Up to your neck in timeless, mindless, sightless, blind confided, | |
| blight of the wired shine of pride, | |
| you barely breathe | |
| with the glare of certain death | |
| ticking and emitting the sound, the flood, the hour. | |
| Take a second and beg, pray for mercy. | |
| So fall to your knees and pray for mercy. | |
| Fall to your knees and pray for mercy. |