Here on guard at the farthest reaches of our lord's domain I wait and watch spear in hand in the conquered realms of the old gods

The sun is beating down Scorching barren lands Bringing suffering to life

The long day wanes hanging low the baleful eye of light dusk falls across the land blackening my mood for who am I guarding? And for what?

Fiendish desert winds Whipping up the sands Tearing at my eyes

Long has it been since we've heard from home assuring our cause is right all that is left to comfort is our final commands:

"Be vigilant and loyal for our goal is just. The truth is ours to shape, and the world is our anvil."

But is it enough?

Cruel, harsh winds have died The whipping sands at rest My eyes no longer torn The moon drifts behind a cloud the cold is inviting invigorating darkness a placid relief from the oppressive sun

Velvet shroud of night Blanketing the world Graven silence reigns

Here on guard scarred by the wind burnt by the sun spear in hand I am left with my thoughts anticipation of the new day brings no relief

Lyrics submitted by Frances-The-Tool

Sentinel's Plight song meanings
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