Altars in Midnight Obsidian
Altars in midnight obsidian cloaked,
Lightless and godless, with devils provoked,
Conjured to witness in foresty gloom,
Singing of torment and doom.
Altars constructed of granite in stone,
Stolen from graves atop corpses and bone,
Firs of the forest a whispering choir,
Witnessing deadly desire.
Shortly the cult to deliver the prize,
Sacrifice flesh before devilish eyes,
Voices in unison, awful the tone,
Chilling the mortified moan.
High is the arm silhouetted in black,
Swinging a lethal, ungodly attack,
Honouring Moloch, explicit the name,
Wickedness ever the flame.
There are the crosses that cover the dead,
There are the graves in the wilderness spread,
Silent as low incantations are made,
Leaving the sacrifice splayed.
There is the blood dripping warm to the side,
All of the coven a force to deride,
Laughing in malice to sully this life,
Loathsome iniquity rife.
Yonder the moon rising unto the cloud,
Shimmering, pallid and spectrally proud,
Evil in very defiance of God,
Here on the rain-puddled sod.
Flapping and crooning the terrible crow,
Into the night over forest and snow,
Brazen the forces of darkness at work,
God is the presence they shirk.
adamdaniel 