Pestilence

"Compagnia", by Blekotakra

I could pledge for a night in your veins
to appease the hot stream of your tantrum


I could sink in the ink of your frail seed
to reach out to the sludge of your saint brew

There, lies the cause of it all and the reason
why the children of gold lost the lust of the moon for a halo

Slip... sweep me off my heel
make me dream of the bow in the moor that glows blistered

Quiet now... He, who shall not meet his shade in demise
grows in fear for what swirls in the loins of the reaper

For we are all the lost howl of a winter
sprouted out of a sin in mute knowledge

Quiet now... He, who shall not meet his shade in demise
shows his face and demands for submission

Slip... sweep me off my heel
I'm the lamb and i'm ready for slaughter