I preach to those where their abode is Hell.
To the Fallen Angels, the ones that fell.
You can tell their marks are from the Beast.
The enemy on the ground, the one we beat.
To keep or let loose, that is the question.
Making sure the blood is pure, and not infested.
No Country for Old Men, we flip the coin.
The double-bladed saber deep in your loin.
Reap what's sown, the Elohim abide.
A Phoenix that rises from the ashes, then flies.
A Seraph on fire, the coal is hot.
It touches our lips, our souls then bought.
Fought the good fight, we're good on the low.
Reminded when we carried our trusty crossbow.
We put on a show, the crowd then claps.
We bring to the table the pertinent like facts.
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