Cryptic visions of a tortured past
Cascade his mind, revalations that last
Haunting screams between his ears
enveloping his existance, fading his fears
The gates of hell have whispered his name
And he returns his reply in open flame
And from the ground the Devil doth rise
Spinning his web of deceit and lies
Hand in hand they walk to a grave
The resting place he desperately craves
A single tear escapes his dying soul
Gliding from his face into the fresh dug hole
A black moon fades into the crimson sky
As his dark cloud begins to cry
Exhaling a breath of dust escaping past his lips
gazing his eyes upon the temple of crumbling crypts
It is not fear he feels inside
As the ground swallows him burying him alive
No longer will his lonely soul endlessly roam
For the Prodical Son has finally come home
