Of The Tormented And Sick

The waters crash ashore
And sweep across the land
Every attempt to inhale
Is a gargled breath
The darkening skies
Every gust of wind
A swing of the reapers scythe
Our punishment, condemned

Now bow
Bow your head
And bend your broken necks
Over the sharpened blade
Of the reapers scythe

There is no blinding light
No coming of thee
No redemption for a life well lived
Our corpses rot in line
Eyes are pulled out from the head
And entrails spilled to dirt
Limbless, lifeless void
Filled with the chaos of God, death

Now bow
Bow your head
And bend your broken necks
Over the sharpened blade
Of the reapers scythe

The pathetic human horde
Is struck down by the mighty sword
And the air is filled with the anguished screams
Of the tormented and sick
You vile worthless rotten things
You've been severed from your angel wings
And fell from the grace of heaven
Straight into your graves