Signs Of Wrath

I bedew their bare claptrap wi' lays of stout-worthy words
Thy writ o' fake fables lies in non-subtle souls
I mizzle thy mind grass like it does dense hoarfrost
Neither boisterous nor heavy, I heed the call, I'm in control
In control

You idolize "holy" images, thy abderian affectation
Corpse that can't end up to dust points to miracle or malison?
O sire their sin erupts in acquiescent autolatry
High and aloof here-words, odes to themselves, but I'm in control
In control

Magniloquent mages
Mobbed in malebolge
Nincompoop imposters
Heedless of your hee-haw

Hafed-men of hypocrisy grand their absolution
Clergymen of a chthonic choir
I will not join my voice unto warbling volition
I'll asperge their altar wi' hallowed fire

Mockers of truth act as acherontic mobsters
Our dew will weep their fall tonight
Metallic fury shall sweep these mud-lark prophets
Onto a pit of their unright