Angels Ablaze - The Bereaved

With a glimpse into the crystal ball

I see gods hordes of angels fall

Surrounded with inverted icons

I rip the feathers from wings so white

The house of God is standing tall

Unaware of its fall

Come on soldiers hear my call

Bring the torches for the wooden wall

Trapped in fire, I burn the holy whore

A divine candle, Screaming for more

Holy havoc, Rotten to the core

I’m infernal, Possessed by gore

With a glimpse into the crystal ball

I see gods whores the angels fall

Surrounded with invrted icons

I rip the feathrs from wings so white

Burn at the stake to redeem your crime

Chapel-smoke makes the daylight grey

You fold your hands and hide

You force yourself into a silent pray

But if wishes were horses every beggar would ride