The weight of death has struck you lame
The tears flow free, but who's to blame?
Conjure guilt through selfish thought
With grief and fear the mind is wrought
Heartache and pain won't bring him back
Nor ceremonies, dressed in black
Is it yours, or the deceased
the loss of whom is being grieved?
The death is done the corpse is rotting out
I hear you cry, don't hang your head and pout
Kid yourself about a heaven or a hell
In truth you're only attached to a lifeless fucking shell
Putrefied features, decaying intestines
The flowers cannot mask the scent of death from a carcass
We are gathered here in mourning of our selfish memories
As the Reaper laughs, we scribe the epitaph for our own sake,
“God won't forgive your vanity.”
The dead transcends its mortal shell
Those who are left, they blame themselves
To rob them of their misery
One will rise with anger's creed
It's breaking bones and slashing necks
Decapitating for effect.
The bodies pile in their pews.
You and your kind are now subdued
I have risen for only one reason:
To cleanse this fouling chapel
Empty cries echo in dissonance
A primal delight
Your laments serve as my catalyst
To reunite you with your dead.
Now that we are covered in gasoline
Your flesh becomes the light
We burn bright on this night!
We were gathered here in mourning of our selfish memories
As the Reaper laughed, we scribed the epitaphs on our own graves
“God won't forgive your vanity.”
Such hollow, meaningless waiting
We always look to the ending
No one can see, we've lost our vitality

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