Artificial Souls
de Mors Principium Est
A certain kind of delusion
That even. You can't penetrate
A strangling cloud of deception
Envelops a jealous, empty being
A preacher, preying an the fragile
Blinded by self importance
Sowing infected seeds
Delivering an empty curse
Armed with a vile tongue
Spewing forth sweet blasphemy
Sacrificing loyalists
To feed a bitter soul
With wicked vows delivered,
We stood steadfast and true
Embraced by fellow kindred,
Slaughtered where we slept
Through our own ascension,
Whilst clawing at our chests
A lasting peace restored,
As we shed our rotting flesh
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