A crooked cross set in the distance,
rags hanging at the ends, waving in the wind.
Dust flows with the arid air.
Acrid is the feeling in my soul, for love, for peace, I do not care.
Death is my creed, it is the reaper I need.
Death shall set me free, in war I bleed.
Bring your dead body unto me,
I’ll pull the soul from it, finally set you free.
That he says, as he calls.
From distant lands afar.
Against the Christian conspiracy he speaks.
He speaks of WAR!
War is life, pierce the gut of the dogs with the knife.
War is right, kill all who oppose, all their children, and the wives.
Laid out in-front of me.
Fucked mentally, whilst mutilated, my enemy.
Torment to the tools of Christianity.
The evil that preaches contradicting blaspheme.
Christ was nailed literally, I thought it was pure beauty.
The pain he endured, as we all do.
Though, the great ones always managed to pull through.
Unlike the Shepard and his sheep, the ones soon to suffocate until blue.
Dead they shall see.
Dead they shall learn of their deceit.
Dead they will finally understand, they have been torn from this earth.
By God’s hand.
His name when Death, dubbed so when birthed. |
