Caskets cold as ice
accelerate their speed
Passing through creations
devouring every seed

A school of soul sweepers dedicated from their birth,
chains scattered across the universe, dragging the empty and already lost

Arm yourselves,
sheppards all pointing to the slaughter house to graze
**** yourselves with the mouth of empty praise.

Needles stab the sky,
sending their signals to no one,
Feeding bulls blood,
the forsaken have come to leave but none.

A race lines the horizon, engulfing each heaven with ease,
all souls fill with illusion of their own personal hell,
Standing proud and tall over the disease,
the bastard rings a sedative bell.