Nitheful, James Cole - IIXXVIILXXV lyrics

This is the unearthing of a morbid pestilence
For the wrath of my hand
Strikes the hour of abhorrence
I, father and captor of genocide
Engulfed in rage
Yearning for the taste of carnage
A taste of thy youth's blood
False images who have spoke
Of malcontent of detestation
Atone for thy sins with a grizzly demise

For a wicked fate lay wait
To greet thy spawns
Resting upon thine holy mountains i, Elisha
The wisest within the hierarchy
Of holy prophets

Gifted is the hand that
Brings death under oath
Of no penalty from the heavens above
The successor of carnage and mutilation
May it cleanse the waters of Jericho
Purge the life damn their souls
Wretched swine
A writhing abomination of flesh, bone
And life

The intrusive dreams of bloodthirst
Holy crusades each open for the decimation
The visions of trickling blood
I shall bore the chest through
Tools of tooth, nails, And pelted flesh
Two bears shredding you to death

Commencing the purification
The created images of the
Most holy indoctrination misguided youth
Led astray from the eternal rules
Of my Ten Commandments
Surely not devout, I see fit my deadly beasts
They shall feast doomed against their will
Enduring the end of mortality

Locked in a limbo of pragmatic consequence
A bald man's vision
So says I, the father of genocide
All sins shall be repaid
Go up, you bald head go up, you bald head
You fucking worthless prophet