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Sail, sail, sail, your wings of gold
You fly too high you burn your soul
You must return from whence you come
You fly too high, you fly too long

You feel the burning of the ancient one
Loath the butcher of Christ now comes

You feel the ancient burning in your mind
Seasons writhing at the end of time
The anger burns, starts to glow
You feel the anger start to overflow

The angel, the demon, the cockroach called man
It’s not worth the slaughter nor fit to be damned
God gives the order, we do his command
Level with fire, the flame leaves his hands

Rise said the master all forms with a rush
Murder and murder with love and with lust
The angel, the demon, the cockroach called man
It’s not worth the slaughter nor fit to be damned
The ancient glides

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