The loud cries of Death echoed through
And its whisper ebbed out the will to live
Like the sun set in the west I believe
In the religion of Nature, harsh yet true
Like the sun rise in the east in its glory
I saw the blades rise to the sky in frenzied gory
Forgotten on the flesh, wails covered the sky like a canopy
So it was, a visitation of the Fallen Angel
With tidings that caused streams of blood
Painting the fate of humans on the canvass of God
The Artist's easel; that butcher's blade: the surgeon's scalpel
Hacked down the flowers and trees in their prime
Offered them to mother earth as a sacrifice for no crime
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Precious land, thy killings like a prayer has been taken
To the heights of its destination and the answer given
Stirs up the arms of the masked messengers of Hades
Their Blades and ferocity akin to the soldiers of Medes
The Sins of the World made a Jesus of that little town
And the price they paid was beyond what lucifer could bargain for
