The hand that sounds the chimes, Tears away the veil.
Patriarch Militant calls, To attest, the structures fail.
A maskéd inception, Here's the arméd sky.
We are like scythes, Slicing through the sky.

We drank of asperity,From the poisoned well.
The breath that passes o'er our lips, Sings hymns from tomes of Hell.
The truth is everlasting,This generation is the end.
The enemy of my enemy,Will always be my friend.

Here we stand a sentinel,Here before truth's door.
A threshold that once we cross,We shall return no more.
The veil has been torn away,The word's portent is neigh.
The word, the sharpest scythe,Slicing through the sky...

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