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Shadows From The Alexander World

Bethlehem

Profilgate assassin revelling in purple sides
I shed the cursed blood of your
childlike corpse
And await with possessed dedication
the redeeming desire of my much praised downfall

Thunder rises and I feel like the tear
whose thorn thrusts deep into the pool of my
prophecy

Bare destruction blows round my slow thighs
The middle can no longer be kept
and it took only two shots to kill the king

And when the circle of the hanged ones speaks
and the faded light breaks in black wine
the penance of the dead horse will fall
share to my harsh darkness
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