Funeral Mist — Twilight of the Flesh

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Her veins drink smoke from the lowest fire
Great birds draw maps upon her skin
Her wound spread open like a flower
Prepared to let the poison in

Heavens scepter and crown of the gods
Yet we stand unblessed
Blood of the sun, yet doomed to call dawn
The Twilight of the Flesh

Lust and sloth mixed with avarice
Hear us cheering on our own demise
Unearned pride upon envy’s path
When all wе need is a pinch of wrath

Will you bend among the bending or
Will you sеll your garment and buy a sword?
How long must we stand here
Unblessed in this twilight of the flesh?

How can we raise altars on our blood
Among the temples of a foreign god?
How can our roar be heard
In His house if that roar is the roar of a mouse?

How can we stand with a faith made to crawl?
How can we rise with a creed made to fall?
Forever doomed to kneel before the possessed…
Or is this just a test?

Her eyes are words of light unspoken
Black milk still dripping from her chin
Stripped bare and dragged into the open
For all to see the poison win