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Your march through this woods will lead you to your grave Spare my soul, we take your sins and bring you guidanceWe know our way, the path of our fathers Sons of god, proclaim your gracious salvationThrough the cold days of ice, while the storm wind whipsThe only thing that warms is the fire made by usNo god will fix you up when you shatter on a rockBut the herb behind the stone that cuts scars into your bonesYour march through this woods will lead you to your grave Spare my soul, we take your sins and bring you guidanceWe know our way, the path of our fathers Sons of god, proclaim your gracious salvationTake your cross and spill your blood to step closer to himIf we meet again as you say, we may see who has sinnedFall astray into an empty spaceno Savior and no divine redemptionDesperate cry, fade away in distanceleave all behind, your signs of immortalityThe wind roams the trees, while flames light up the hillSilence prevail and soon the pagan path appearTake your cross and spill your blood to step closer to himIf we meet again as you say, we may see who has sinned From Letras Mania