Sons of HellMature

Your blood is on my hands
I did not take your life
It was not I
Who pushed forth that knife

Yet still the taste is on my lips
Reminding me of chains and whips
And broken bones with broken skin
Unsealed to blood pour from within

Here I stand with bloodied lips
I took not all, from you it drips
Your lifeless eyes awoken no longer
Soul-less in your endless slumber

Be glad you are not one like I
Drinking from those who dare to die
Beaten down with whips and chains
Loosing faith as their blood drains

Perhaps it's worse to die as you
Crying out that name, to who?
Your God above who listens not
And leaves you here in chains to rot.

For we are Satin, the sons of hell
To us you are an easy sell
Of mortals who have lost their path
To our master who takes your heart

And as your soul is ripped apart
The blood-driven madness amongst us will start
And as you watch our beautiful eyes
Turn black as night, see your demise. 

The End

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