He fills our souls like fear of death
And haunts our minds as we sleep
Oblivious to the prayers we speak
Indifferent to fearful’s worship
Hidden afore all reminiscence
Conjunction of rapture and stampede
The only way out is through death
A knee bent is of the bravest
The prayers we speak
Tear a hole into the fabric of history
Since ages immemorial
A hole with a shape of fear
Yet the prayers we speak
And the pleas we yell
Tear also a hole in our souls
A hole the size of God
As surely as grain shall turn into clay
When there is no hand that feeds
Once to witness that glorious day
When even stone shall bleed
He guards at the veil
Preventing the Living from entering
He torments the mortals
And lifts the veil for the dead
He consumes souls bereaved
But what he flourishes remains unknown
The great revealer
Yet he withholds no secrets
And totes no knowledge
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