Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Evangelist, artist - Spawn of Possession. Album song Incurso, in the genre
Date of issue: 12.03.2012
Record label: Relapse
Song language: English
The Evangelist |
Sleeping pills can keep one drowsy |
Shut out the angst and feel but nothing |
Yet to find total closure for terrors of the past |
A saddened man now entered the hospital at last |
Ninth door to the left |
Laid all answers to what had kept him drunk |
For all those years |
A gently knocking but no answer |
Hesitated for a second |
Then turned the knob and stepped inside |
In front of him a well made bed |
In it a woman sleeping, he pulled up a chair |
So fragile and so helpless |
He took her hand and held it |
And whispered in her ear |
Edward |
«My dear Ms. Sinclair, you are my mother and a whore of evil |
How could you leave me there in that old church, why |
My first vague memories of Father Dorian and me on my knees |
He stole my boyhood early, him and the other priests |
While preaching I was dirty and needed to be cleansed |
Baptized my young face with soggy semen |
Every evening while tears ran |
Alternated with violent whipping in God’s name |
I was a child of shame |
Dorian, he sodomized my weak and childish body |
The cross went inside my ravished rear end and bent me open |
Those yellow teeth still haunt my dreams |
Caged from daylight inside a cellar |
He kept me locked up 'til pleasure he craved |
I know God’s light is shining |
But this molested soul will never see |
A heaven that I am certain of |
My dear Ms. Sinclair |
You are my mother and a whore of evil |
How could you leave me there |
In that old church, why |
Then one night I noticed he’d forgotten |
To lock the doors and I saw my chance |
I sneaked out and ran off, foggy air |
Morning dark, the grass was wet |
I’d been there for so long, not sure of my age |
The wicked Father D. may he burn in hell |
You must die oh spiteful bitch, you put me there" |
Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at him silent at first |
Felt she was squeezing his hand, the wrinkly old hag |
Ms. Sinclair |
«My dear boy, my dear Edward let me tell you of your past |
Please son ease down, sit down and listen to me |
I was born where you grew up |
Daughter of Father Dorian |
His line of blood runs deep |
Deeper than you can possibly imagine |
Night after night he robbed me of pride |
Pleasing his need, a child of his breed that never could smile |
Instead of playing with a dolly I had to play with him |
In my mouth I can still taste his salt veiny skin |
Barely fertile yet daily raped, his holy seed |
Finally my girly womb managed to impregnate |
My father, my lover had now made me a mother |
As he delivered my baby I wept to God |
I left the church right after my baby boy was born |
I was replaced by my infant to be my father’s toy |
That toy was you dear Edward and I’m glad I left you there |
Our Father’s love for his children can never be compared" |