They Hurt

I summon thee
From the heavenly halls
I summon thee
From the depths of hell
The present voice of
Those of spirit and flesh
Sound feeble
Is dying

This life s
Being consumed
Rotting wings
All around
This place of hate
And madness
Is on their
Weak shoulders

A silent prayer
To the past
Awake the
Exalted one
May thy eyes
Rest upon us all
Restore the
Kingdom of will

The gates of time
Guards of fools
Are falling to pieces
At the stake
The masks of
The dead
Shall burn
Burn