The Forfeit

Every time your lips spill their poisonous words
They infect the ones you claimed to have cared for
We are gored by your serrated ways

We shed our faith, we’ve bled oceans for your cause
We shed our faith in your atrocity
Open hands will shape what little time we have

We exude our servitude to a lifetime of deceptive worship

Righteous hands will rise, if only to redeem the city of the gods
And in ourselves we trust

A thousand fists will rain
This mighty downpour will wash away
There is new hope in every open eye
Promise to ourselves that these words will never die

We exude our servant hood to a lifetime of immoral worship
Righteous hands will rise, if only to redeem the souls of the meek

Burn your spores so your plague will not manifest in the hearts of the innocent
The ash will scatter of what has not remained
The ashes have buried you