Martyr Come Unto Me

A knife into the neck

Visage of a bodily wreck

Corpse an icon of holy dead

Bloody halo above his head

Know the devil is real

He speaks words of coldest steel

Corrupting those in power

A rotting wilted flower

The few are few in number

When they came it was when all were aslumber

They sparked the dragon's breath

The makings of a fiery death

The rest of the night is cold

They look on as the house folds

Charred wood and bone

Charred corpses makes for sin a throne

The few have been made none

Rises the red sun

Illuminating skulls and bloody halos

The smiling mob admires the dead flesh

Bodies cut and burned fresh

A testament to the evil in this land

How do we stay the fury of our maker's hand?

For his chosen are in the martyr's hall

Now others will answer this call

Hearing about the chosen's harm

Across the land it'll be a call to arms

Side by side the martyr's fell

But they guaranteed the servant's of evil a trip to Hell