Fallen from Grace

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The little youth from far away

Called to face fate’s foul demands

Under heavens cursed grey

With the crimson on his hands

The little youth so lost in time

Cannot fathom what he’s done

The object of this wretched rhyme

Has the battle hardly won

There’s much more he doesn’t see

Beyond what he must think he knows

And thus he’s damned eternally

And from his youth the child grows

In an order of the cult

Sanctified by blood and spit

Grows this youth to an adult

Immersed in dark, unholy writ

Under oath he executes

All he’s ordered to erase

Every voice he firmly mutes

Every foe that sees his face

By the fire in his blood

By the hatred in his soul

He o’er-whelms the crimson flood

With a heart that’s black like coal