Addicted to God,
Awaiting the end of days
With martyred flesh,
Strewn across death beds of clay.
A bronze age myth,
In the shadow of an eagle,
With snakes and tongues, and the war tempests rattle
Addicted to God, I hold the props of death.
Scythe, mist and skull, and cloak of hooded dread.
From the boiling rage of war, scowling pestilence 
awakens.
Fallen knights rot, with hungry graves awaiting.
I'm the offspring of chaos,
The croaking face of grim.
From eagle to cross. To absolve all from sin.
Wearing sackcloth and ashes,
A dire monster sent.
From Caesar to pope, on bended knees repent.
Addicted to God,
My sacred words are hollow.
The slain care little, if they lead or follow.
In the bray of horns, crusaders keep the faith.
Singing hallelujah, to the rusting pearly gates.
Addicted to God,
Awaiting the end of days
With martyred flesh,
Strewn across death beds of clay.
A bronze age myth,
In the shadow of an eagle,
With snakes and tongues, and the war storms above.