Long live the king!
The king\'s die nasty
in the Michelangelo walls.
A fight within, and beyond
space and time.
Lies in legacies.
The former blood is weak.
But the bond of word is strong,
as the spell that brought an end
to history\'s circle.
The ministry of great suffering
comes great blessing.
To be king of someone\'s
crypt, I\'ll move your ghost
around the room. The death might
be sacred but the deliverance is pure evil.
As the ancient code of man,
delivered by the plan of serpents
in sand.
I\'ll stain this room
with my own blood,
my own Satan!
I\'ll move around this room
my own Lucifer star.
The king\'s die nasty is the book you give glory.
You kill and kill, more sacrifice, no advice but worship
the mice.
I\'ll be tortured in hell\'s dungeons.
Ripped apart in my spinal fluid.
The hell is only....what submission or death.
The pain of being stuck in a heaven you don\'t belong.
I\'ll drown in piss filled fires, of all the demons in
pits of the darkest hole you dreamt.
Shall beckon tunnels to the surface of the moon.
Where I\'ll keep them as pets of a certain place and a time.
To recollect the king\'s die nasty was law but false in it\'s scripture.
A goat\'s head to worship me!
As the darkness itself, I\'ll walk the stains
as my reward and the light my own shall
asunder your unsure.