On the day divinity rejects the order
They'll bend the mirrors back unto the gift of fire
That reflects in the master's eye
They'll break the grand design, to bring forth the healer
Feast or Famine
The wage of sin is Death
Hold them like a teething child
And show them the sins of their fathers
Waste them, and their waste to the world
And collapse, as madmen lead the blind
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how do your gardens grow?"
A failed womb, of their ART
Early ripe, early rotten
And the world is rotten; like a fallen fruit
Ring the war chime
Violently project it inside
The fanged chasm; A hellscape collosass
That bleeds them like fucking swine
On the day divinity rejects the order
They'll bend the mirror back where at last
They'll drag the whore through the sceptered isle
They'll break the grand design, to bring forth the healer
On the day that never ends
At Jornada del Muerto
At this tilting plateau of diminishing grace
Salvation is sought where the sun yields
No sanctuary