Slave of Pandemonium
The melodic cunning dagger,Hated by the world, singing melodies,
As he glides along the bars,
Of my jail within my mind,
Like a blacksmith grinding steel,
Creating blades of war.
Force-fed agony through internal anger,
Slaughters butter words of wisdom,
Decapitating trust from the world,
And haunting them of dishonor,
For they now lust after death—
Wishing to become a slave of pandemonium.
Have I entered the mass of insanity?
For nothing of mine cries of wrong,
Like the wretched screams of terror,
Never fading away from existence.
Life of illusion and hell;
The grinning dagger eradicates my flesh,
Skull and bones degenerates my soul,
Evil blood of sinners within range,
Their eyes of evil—
As sharp as the dagger’s point—
Gaze into my life, foreseeing my future.
My prolonged dream—now ended,
For they engulf my blood for ritual;
Such pure heaven of hell;
The elegant angels of death,
Swiftly fly about with precision;
Nothing compares to this estate,
For I am home…
The melodic cunning dagger,
Hated by the world, singing melodies,
As he glides along the bars,
Of my jail within my mind,
Like a blacksmith grinding steel,
Creating blades of war.
That dagger of death set me free,
Allowing me to enter my home of the afterlife…
The demonic dagger,
Force-fed agony through internal anger,
Into my chronic chaotic mind,
Like forcing overwhelming burdens,
Down my throat full-throttle.
As of now, I am a slave of pandemonium.
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