Epicurean Entrails

The sword in hand's not yet to be in the ground...
For at the darkest hour, a man may cry out.
Seven tormenting spirits
To be breathed into him...
The black abominations of elusive kinds,
Heads hung in death... Spilling blood for their dead.
Incinerate the soul to die temporarily..
Betrayed torture for a life of recovery,
Now I begin the quest I was born for...
Ridding the world of those pigmented abortion babies.

Fetal infections transplants the foul wastes...
Lift the eyelids to inject this antidote... Only to...
Live though a slow and painful demise,
Reason from the corroded arteries
Seeps from the bubbling skin...
This vagina is a thing to be tortured...
Rat droppings enclose the orifice.
Seven tormenting spirits
To be breathed into him.
God's purist creatures I've hung and eaten...
To reproduce their meat. Alive.

... We rejoiced for a ceremonial reunion,
Where we'll eat and feast on an array of our departed's entrails.

Grant me the delight of necrofucking
My departed followers... They were my companions to the traveling...
I am taken to the deepest corners of the earth...
Spare us when Thee will rise to the earth