| Dash against the rocks the sickling and his cries
|
| Break the back of the steed upon you ride
|
| Boiling bodies of water, to glass the sand
|
| And may mother’s breasts shrivel and dust
|
| Tongues shall be cut from gaping mouths
|
| For I voice a culling course towards desolation
|
| Yet those chained to their own foul flesh
|
| Know only obsolescence- their nakedness
|
| Push the rabble back, to the victor come the spoils
|
| Work to certain death the labor that toils
|
| Bloat and putrefy that which flowers
|
| And tear from womb the bleating babe
|
| The blind and wretched shall be left to rot
|
| The diseased and alme dispatched
|
| Give me your sick, your meek, your lowly
|
| For I will kick the dogs when they are down
|
| For I am the inferno
|
| And you the kindling you the fuel
|
| And I am the vulture
|
| Feasting on your idols of flesh
|
| I am the shepherd and you my flock
|
| The lightning strike that splits the rock
|
| For I am wrath- vindication
|
| And the world my abattoir
|
| Visions of war dreams of anger ectasy
|
| A maelstorm of flame infernos of might
|
| Lightning phallus crack of thunder roars
|
| A lion in furious fight
|
| Cleansing fire insatiable cleaving sword
|
| The fall of the idols of flesh
|
| The stellar winds beneath my wings
|
| Are purest vengeance
|
| The firestorms within my eyes
|
| Black purest hate
|
| Of blood unvanquished blasphemies
|
| My will: one voice
|
| With strike of tumult- aftermath
|
| In withered flesh rejoice
|
| For I am the inferno
|
| And you the kindling you the fuel
|
| And I am the vulture
|
| Feasting on your idols of flesh
|
| I am the shepherd and you my flock
|
| The lightning strike that splits the rock
|
| For I am wrath- vindication
|
| And the world my abattoir |