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Dark days of crimson skies and fields of those forsaken |
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The king that called for a higher brand of suffering be inflicted |
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His masses bent to serve his lust |
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His will to impale all who oppose |
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With force driven through a wooden pole |
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Death would not come so soon for most |
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Forced through the anus smashing through internal organs |
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Splinters tearing tissue, ripping through the sinew gushing pus |
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Some were pulled with force, causing blood to shower the fertile ground |
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Some were left to slowly drift, inch by inch, day by day |
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Breathing while the stake would slowly pierce through their body |
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Feeling every ounce of ungodly pain, completely coherent |
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Day one the spike will pierce the stomach's inner wall |
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The victim will defecate from the hell bestowed upon |
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Day two the spike runs through the diaphragm into the throat |
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The uncontrollable twitching cannot prepare to the day that follows |
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Day three's come, suffering taken to unreal heights |
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The spike emerged from the mouth, and the pig is stuck |
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Eyes forced up to watch the sky and the bloodstained tip |
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Forced in place to suffer as death slowly creeps in |
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The prince of darkness gazes proudly |
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A field of impaled ten thousand strong |
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Suffering of unparalleled proportions |
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To strike fear into hearts of purity |
