The fist will run
Grasp metal to gun
The spirit sings in crashing tones we gain the battle drum
Our cries will shrill the air will moan and crash into the dawn
The pen won't stay the demon's wings, the hour approaches
Pounding out the Devil's sermon
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.