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Imagine the scene of your demise:
this picture I can paint for your eyes,
feel your power buried inside.

Consuming your mind it will define
the quality of strength and what kind
when the beast plays its part out of mind.

I will light little candles for you.
Twice as many for those overdue.
Come on man, the world waits for you.

Like a flame to a moth you will learn.
Those primeval urges will churn.
Those motherfuckers will burn.

They line up at your gates and
you fire, they fall, is there hope for us all?
The white has turned to red as -
come on, your shield is ready to fall!

They line up at your gates and
they fall into the quicksand.
Their screams are never heard again.
You rain death down upon their heads.
Their hearts are bled in your stead.
The lion roars!

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