Arkaik Blade Of Grasp Priesthood
The machine that festers its offspring into the heart
of man
It summons beckoning to the temple of faith
Shining a beacon to grip control in wanting minds
Together they spread slavery into pristine disguise
Of fountains spreading red
Awaiting in halls carved of beating hearts that curtain
the windows
What’s left of them fall but those who convulse behind
the machine
Fear the power it gives so they breed manipulations
Chains that bind the spirit and the mind
Enter into this wall crawling fever dream
The chapel in shackled cloaks shook wide eyed
Beneath the pews the knees bent backwards
As candles sweat into stigmata held reservoirs
“I welcome you to this sanctuary”
Said the scalpel stalking priest
Its hands fitted with knives as it caresses its
congregation
They stood paralyzed
Testaments mangled to authorities
Feeding illusive lords
Confessions to the ears of traitors
Blinded flock forged enlightened will
Deformed for the hold of the
Blade grasp priesthood
Praying in pools of pastoral lust under
The disguise of her shifting eyes a blur
Sewn with fear came together for
Greater good of the masters lore
They appeared before singing conjuring hymns of old
Suited in its cold thread
Awaiting in halls carved of beating hearts that curtain
the windows
What’s left of them fall but those who convulse behind
the machine
Fear the power it gives
