Serving the Serpent

Black blood flows out of the mountains
Angels mourn the slow suicide of those souls
As in a prelude of a tempest
Closed,God,his eyes and ears to the doomed ones

In venom trickling from a poisonous snake lips
think everytime you recite the poem of the hearts on fire
Promisses of (aged) honey and (ineffective) shelter makes legs tremble
Nothing more than a angelic calling to their tombs

Agony burns up to my throat,
sweetly embraced by a boa constrictor I feel
as your shadow overpowers mine

Servant of the Incarnated Original Sin,
smirks on his throne of gold
the fortune of the flock of sould,in the hands of Evil,forever is sealed