A Violent Strike

And out of the great beyond came a pitch-black multitude, here to choose the weakest of our race: hellhounds of the devil's own race confused a violent strike for something finally here to guide the way, our faith in order was a mistake.
So fearful and divine, and devoid of grace, they try to run but there's no escape, and the light decayed on that final day, fear crept up inside, night became something more than a trade, and our slumber, a weakness that we all can share.
Death calling in the wind, "this is the end."
I watched as a spiral took shape across the sky, it was like a
call from the other side.
What will you do now?
The fires of hell are raining down.
Deep inside you're starting to shake, and slowly losing ground.
Everyone is dead. Your bravery is useless.
I watched as a spiral took shape across the sky.
It was like a call from the other side, and there I cried, out of control and paralyzed, as everything I once was died.
At the storm's dark mercy.
There's no way I'd be dying honorably.
If they came and took my life now. No way.
Regrets in tow, they didn't even stand a chance.
So hear me, the final lines have been drawn: To build again, to fall again.
It’s worn me down to the last straw.
It took me down, took me, until I don't feel human at all.
Test me now. Test me.
I don't feel human at all.
So don’t you go thinking that you find strength, without a trial or two.
These days have got me feeling like a god.
Hear me, the final lines have been drawn.
I held on so long to my home, until a tempest came.
She came in and swept it away.
Where's your bravery?
What will bravery do for you now?