Impaled raider-angels chest
A battered sculpture here manifests
Woe - Begone souls
Crowd the world in under Arcane
As a horde yet kept asuder Profane
Cruel defected angels
Ensnared in sweet rapture
Yet cursing and rejecting their sins
Descending steep stairs
Of black frosty stone
Approaching the vault
Of the ones assumed condoned
From the walls grabble claws
Of a voracious kind
Lasvicious gods laughter
Resounds in the halls like thunder
Draw the sabre offered to you from
The scabbard in the phantoms globed hand
And chop away Feel free from grace
Blistering dead mist looms up from
The phosphorous wells like acid steam
Noxious gas invades the weak things
Of the damned as they crowd
Themselves stairward
But held down by the sabre-
Wielding lords
Take the meat-dish offered to you and
The goblet from the phantoms gloved hand
Sink your teeth into the flesh of your prey
You have given rein
To your malicious ways
Mangeled and torn
Hangs the torso with angelwings
Amongst my gates ebony xylography
No crawling back
From underworld purgatory
To heavens filled with hypocrisy
Take the banner handed to you and
The dagger from the phantoms gloved hand
To lead the way