Lyrics

In Hillsbrad fields where shadows fall,
Where ash now coats the ground,
A nameless specter walked unseen,
Until the flames were found.

He does not march with banners proud,
Nor pledge to king or land,
Yet where he treads, the embers rise,
A firestone in his hand.

Run, run, the Reaper comes,
His fire cold as fate.
He does not burn for warmth or war,
But something far too late.

The Kolkar fell, the pirates screamed,
None lived to tell the tale,
For what was left were bones and dust,
And whispers on the gale.

They say he fights, but not for gold,
Nor for a cause divine,
His war is waged against the dark—
Or something in his mind.

Run, run, the Reaper comes,
His fire cold as fate.
He does not burn for warmth or war,
But something far too late.

His blade strikes fast, his fire consumes,
His demons call his name.
Yet when he stands amidst the ash,
He does not weep the same.

No rage, no sorrow, no remorse,
Just cinders in his wake,
And those who watch the embers rise,
Know what the fire takes.

Run, run, the Reaper comes,
His fire cold as fate.
He does not burn for warmth or war,
But something far too late.