A parade of blades Marching round your neck But glorious like mountain you stand Cold sweat leads fear To the upper layer of skin To an escape so great From cells that beg to die Darkness brighter than all suns World without end Testament of mourn Enchanted dead skin My eyes are doomed In my sockets I bestowed your icon A vomit of spells Backwards to spit Mind's eye condemned Body deceased Spirit misled Through candlelit halls A lifeline attached To strings of revenge A parade of blades Marched down your throat But glorious like mountain you stood On a grasp of breath ashamed you fade Gold scepters are nothing but plunder