Consumed by tongues of fire
Burning like Phlegethon
Holy gardens reduced to ash
Extinguishing light of hope
Bringing the end of the days
Words of my gospel scattered
Sacrilegious scorn spat in pale creeds
Thin is the line between pure being and pure nothing
My sole companion
Woe to thee!
At my command
Let the blood of the infants flood the streets of Bethelehem!
O ye of little faith
With ethics rotten in a moral cage
Dead meat thrown down to the worms
To feed religious tumor
Corrupting marrow of repugnant swirl
At my command
Let the blood of the infants flood the streets of Bethelehem!
At my command
Let the heads of Samaritan pave my ways!
Shemhamforash!