Burn My Soul - Volume I

Predestined to participate in the violence of this war,

Gods and devils battle for control of souls.

Closing eyes to this dread as mists of blood wash over, our ears fail to perceive the cries of the slain.

Walking along these streets of this dead city,

wraiths of lost memory past slowly drain life from me. Silence from the throne,

above from heaven my departure from the light is my own will.

The will of the Gods to protect us and to love us is

a lie,

they were never there to save.

Foolishly they bet against me as I find truth under a less

restraining deity.

Why lie and cheat an acolyte?

 

I stand on this platform,

waiting for my cold but welcomed execution as the rage burns inside my heart.

 

Demanding an answer from the shadows,

mercy lies in the murderer's hands.

Crimson rivers from the prophecies feed the tree where the Gods are hung.

Grace is unhallowed by nature and is found on the lips from the priest as he administers the last rites.

This hour before death intercedes,

is where the angels confess the truth to me.

As I whittle my skin  into pages,

my soul engraves on them a history

and this book is complete.

Grave like innocence is buried on the pyre as the betrayal from heaven ignites  this eternal fire.

 

The ghoul of vengeance rests upon my chest as my abilities to sacrifice this will of mine that I pawned so freely to the Gods is the devil's gift to me.

 

This sacrilege of my will to this fate will be the fall of the light and the black flame torches will lead their funeral parade.

 

Priest like actions of faith have brought me to an early death,

madness grips  their minds as I slumber in tomb.

Darkness of hell has freed me from these hallowed shackles of vanity,

alone in my afterbirth from the dark mother this woe

is a gift to Gods.

Lies, prophecies of shame, and tainted blessings

scribes of the light will convey these empty words of an era long gone.

 

They burn my soul for their existence as hero's fall to vainglory of the Gods and nations of origin.

Riddles of false promises come from shadows as they partake in a feast of bones,

many saviors with christened words will walk this earth but  the dark redeemer will shun their bleak souls to the wrathful flames of abbadon.

Nations of Darkness is rising from the ashes and my place is to lead them to end this war,

gallows of  ghosts of ancient lore arise from your sleeping graves so you may taste the flesh of your

enemies.

Burn my soul in hell, burn my soul in heaven.