A darkest hour, a darkest time
For him and for many, the day was sublime
For his knife was ready, curved to a point
The cultist was screaming, brother anoint
The oil was dripping, mixed with his gore
His form was sprawled, all over the floor
The circle was drawn, the time is now
Our god will be waiting, they’ll hear us somehow
We slice his throat, and we say the watchwords
We chant for an hour, then **** all the birds
The light is telling, our god has awoken
He is coming down, to the words we have spoken
And when he arrives, death to the foundation
If his presence is felt, enter damnation
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
A darkest hour, a darkest time
For him and for many, the day was sublime
For his knife was ready, curved to a point
The cultist was screaming, brother anoint
The oil was dripping, mixed with his gore
His form was sprawled, all over the floor
The circle was drawn, the time is now
Our god will be waiting, they’ll hear us somehow
We slice his throat, and we say the watchwords
We chant for an hour, then **** all the birds
The light is telling, our god has awoken
He is coming down, to the words we have spoken
And when he arrives, death to the foundation
If his presence is felt, enter damnation
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