1. |
|
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|
I recall the day He fell from grace,
Wresting the tyrant from his throne.
Seraphs and cherubs were displaced,
His people buried deep below.
And there the unrest finally boiled.
The profane serfs endured too much.
Divine peerage drunk on holy spoils;
The rest to slog in primal mud.
We held our disdain to abide -
Alas we paid the price in blood;
We piled the bodies of our martyrs high -
A tower to pierce heaven's gut.
|
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2. |
Upon Wings of Perdition
03:47
|
|
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|
Soaring on resplendent wings,
I addressed the baying crowds
Gathered in the courts of elohim.
The voice rang out; resonant, loud:
"Let the trumpets proudly sing
And staunchly hold fast where you stand,
For tonight we slay the tyrant king
And wager for the soul of man.
Pull the profligates from their homes,
To harbour our stray and wretchèd.
Usurp the father from his throne
And prime the trident for his heads."
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3. |
|
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|
He came like the dawn after the night.
We could but watch in our dismay,
As the father burst in searing light;
The Anointed One was cast away.
But yet I did not yield defeat.
In his arms I felt my body break;
Conjured the fall beneath my feet,
And held me above the fiery lake:
"Though you may take me now
And rend the spirit from my flesh,
I shall not kneel, I will not bow,
I shall defy you until death".
|
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