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The Pallid Scourge

de Kriegsmaschine

He'd cut himself open
Plant the seeds of plague within
Wear a scripture of scars
Caress the acerbic gangrene

Build on decay, grow upon failure
Absorb rot, devour corruption
Feed on ruin, crawl through the pits
Gaze into gray skies, swallow the ashen ardor

Tear off the eyelids, peel the skin away
Coil his limbs into a breathing sculpture
He would become the pallid scourge
Court offender in service of loss

The herald of doom comes in silence
His presence revealed in trembling of history
He would rise a new temple
Paint its walls with refined filth
Burn bricks off crushed lives
Pave the road with lost forgiveness

The herald of doom comes without fanfare
The ashes of empires beneath his feet

Bones of the fallen pulverized to dust
Joined together with spit of the virtuous

Hardened in boiling bile of the holy men
Immersed in the unknown
Tempered in a haze of sulphurous fumes
He would bleed all over this stone

The herald of doom comes with a promise
The true believer craves change
He would cast away his light and his shadow
He would become one with the pallid scourge

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