False Cross

A storm is drawing nearer
Tensions risen, stakes are high
Count your virtues, run for shelter
Judgement's passing, death is nigh

Perpetual
Spite Guilt Fear
Rational curse of ache
Drilled into our skulls

Moments of clarity
You snatch them up
Pines in phobia
They whisk away

Buy the time – Bribe me Guilt me Praise him
Scythe unknown – Ever ripping through us
Ash from stone – Embers once wood burning
Temples destroyed

Mold thy mind Sculp from thine
Pain of faith Grander paradigm
Suffer into your past

Our hands are cupped
Receiving lies

The wine it flows like blood upon monuments of war