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