Blood On My Knuckles

Face your wrath

I followed your shadow
to the devil's lair
Upon a pale horse,
pierced, gaunt and red
Trampling the chests of demons
and not looking back
The weight of redemption on my shoulders
when you said;

"I would give you more gold than you could fit in your fists,
the entire world is at your fingertips."

Face your rage
and your hounds will turn on their own
With each nail
I will break your every bone

Black and blue color my skin;
that smirk leaves your face
Reciprocated tenfold
when I break your curse
Hoisted up and bound by a traitor
I left him in a field;
his insides feed the birds

"I would give you more gold than you could fit in your fists,
the entire world is at your fingertips."

Face your rage
'Wrath' is too weak a word

When I rise your fate is sealed
There will be nothing left but the blood on my knuckles

'Wrath' is too weak a word
Face your rage
and your hounds will turn on their own
With these nails
I will break your every bone