Rise o'er us, dark lord.
Praise for ending our suffering.
Feast lord for us and our poor,
Reaching towards the glory your songs have ensured.
Dark spore washed ashore.
Shame for praising our slaughterer.
Beast borne of sick and evil whore,
Still reaching for our throats when reach for our swords.
“Send a fetter to the leader,” they cried,
And set their gratitude aside.
I concede that ignorance has eaten more of their heads than mine.
(“Send a fetter to the leader,” they cried,)
Take to your streets,
(And set their gratitude aside.)
Better marry your fight.
(I concede that ignorance has eaten more of their heads than mine.)
You'll be the fools if we find out you're right.
As they're running away from me
Afraid of what I might've became.
(Masquerade)
I see they're building a place for me
To burn to take all the blame.
Heresy.
Bones are broken in ecstasy.
Ash clots blood flows drawn to me.
Breathe in essence of evil;
Bring your marching to me.
White sword soaked in lore.
Gay for your giving us reason to
Wheeze forth the last of our corps,
Bleeding war when our poisonous blight is reborn.
As they're running away from me
Afraid of what I might've became.
(Masquerade)
I see they're building a place for me
To burn to take all the blame.
Heresy.
Bones are broken in ecstasy.
Ash clots blood flows drawn to me.
Breathe in essence of evil;
Bring your marching to me.
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