Raising the dead

Lift this shroud of darkness
Spirit I send thee
To forsee and give thy forsight
Be the fourth eye

Walking in the sun with shades
I am the son with the rays
Speaking words of life
For the deceased to be raised

Before we are erased from the face
Of the living even thou we breathe
Counted as dead
Whilste these lands we still tread

I pray in a foreign tongue
That foreign help may reign
Like the heavens latter rain
Get us rid of these rebirths of pain

Again and again we plunge into sin
Senses of holiness have become numb
Reception for my prayers lost
As I feel doomed destined for disaster

I still breathe even thou I am not alive
I must find the light if my next breath depends on you

for life to be