7 acessos
I deep my fingers in a roof of blood when slained bodies rot in the wake of plagess to write.
Upon the forehead of a wicked face.
Behold the face of death.
Behold the face of man.
Killing in tha smile.
Slayer of it all trapped in the game of the enemy, see the death in his eyes.
Dealer of the apocalypse, sealing our fate, selling the end temptation trough ligth extinction.
Our skin will be burn as we have burned in the fire of atonement.