| Dark days of crimson skies and fields of those forsaken
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| The king that called for a higher brand of suffering be inflicted
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| His masses bent to serve his lust
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| His will to impale all who oppose
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| With force driven through a wooden pole
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| Death would not come so soon for most
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| Forced through the anus smashing through internal organs
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| Splinters tearing tissue, ripping through the sinew gushing pus
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| Some were pulled with force, causing blood to shower the fertile ground
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| Some were left to slowly drift, inch by inch, day by day
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| Breathing while the stake would slowly pierce through their body
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| Feeling every ounce of ungodly pain, completely coherent
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| Day one the spike will pierce the stomach’s inner wall
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| The victim will defecate from the hell bestowed upon
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| Day two the spike runs through the diaphragm into the throat
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| The uncontrollable twitching cannot prepare to the day that follows
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| Day three’s come, suffering taken to unreal heights
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| The spike emerged from the mouth, and the pig is stuck
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| Eyes forced up to watch the sky and the bloodstained tip
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| Forced in place to suffer as death slowly creeps in
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| The prince of darkness gazes proudly
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| A field of impaled ten thousand strong
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| Suffering of unparalleled proportions
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| To strike fear into hearts of purity |