We are... descending upon all men.
Torn souls... praying upon their sins.
Results... imbalanced greed, good as dead.
I am... the slayer of which they've read.
Their souls... gilded laws make them slaves.
Question... the path for which you make.
A parasite, on which we hide, another dies. Your lost life, this time of strife, the plague breeds. A mortal life, from which we hide, we never see. The fools believe, too late to see, the end has come. Proclaim the one, or fallen son, we take their hand. The prophets sung, with hymns of blood, the visions came. Descend the throne, I cast the stone, fulfill the end.
Descending death we taste it... All their efforts wasted!
Pain glared through the light, man was born to fight. They came to see, descend upon. Caressing greed, compassion gone. Their empty souls, who need reprieve. The bloody swords, were never sheathed. The blood was spilled and the child's dead. Upon the book from which the angels read. It was too late for the reaper's toll. He came upon and bestowed his own. Their weary souls were begot with greed, it was their Hell, inadvertently seeked. Sadness I have seen, gilded slaves are we.
A parasite, on which we hide, another dies!
Descending death we taste it... All their efforts wasted!