Bastards in the shape of angels holding my hands
And to be raised in such curse
Aah
He who immersed my hands in sullen throes
He who dares to prove the sanity of mine
Forbidden, forgotten, fairly underrated
He who lets me serve and slip away
With entities swept in disease of betrayal
Hiding like a masked miniature in the dark
He who pours poisonous wine in my chalice
Infesting the dead in herds
Passing me what's left of the wine
Infesting the dead in herds
Manifest of evil presence
Passing me what is left of the wine
And so I will take shelter
A fall from paradise beyond redemption
Bastards in the shape of angels holding my hands
He who speaks of nightly treasures
In the absence of the light
For the art of becoming a progeny
Wrath child's afterglow
Black unearthly void creature crawling
He who speaks of nightly treasures
He who lets me serve and slip away
His grandeur of guidance in round trips obscure
A revenant without relief it seems
His paths on which domination linger
He who wraps the serpent around my neck
Is to forever creep among have mortals
