Wayward Confessor by Hexvessel
King of death
Your unshackled ghouls are tumbling on the borders
Now race through goblet moons of ash
Like convicts on the loose
Tearing down my inner walls
Like a hymnbook's tattered cover
As all my abandoned unions
From a vast and monstrous church
Burn the confessor, the ancient woods
Of each mans work are felled by the devils craft
Damn the confessor, his name is barbed
With a war of ins that drip on heavens tongue
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