The stench of fetid carrion
Plagues the assuaging waters
Fouling its blood soaked wings
Its claws impure and unclean
For forty days the black raven hovers
Yearning for putrid flesh
Feeding on the cries of the forsaken
And the anguish of the unseen
As the fire-seas of purification rise
Over the pits of perdition
To the crest of the mountains of Ararat
The white dove glides (repeat)
Chorus:
Ill fated, the damned are destined to consort with the damned
And the meek seek refuge in the Father’s hands
Fearful and blessed, the gracious spared from the devouring mire
Disdainful and wretched, the voracious shall burn in eternal hell’s pyres
When the dawn wanes and dies
It ascends to the windows of heaven
Where the Ark of Salvation rests
Afar from the purging tides
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