The Bereaved - Angels Ablaze

With a glimpse into the crystal ball
I see gods hordes of angels fall
Surrounded with inverted icons
I rip the feathers from wings so white

The house of god is standing tall
Unaware of its fall
Come on soldiers hear my call
Bring the torches for the wooden wall

Trapped in fire, I burn the holy whore
A divine candle, Screaming for more
Holy havoc, Rotten to the core
I'm infernal, Possessed by gore

With a glimpse into the crystal ball
I see gods whores the angels fall
Surrounded with inverted icons
I rip the feathers from wings so white

Burn at the stake to redeem your crime

Chapelsmoke makes the daylight grey
You fold your hands and hide
You force yourself into a silent pray
But if wishes were horses every beggar would ride