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Twelve Tribes
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Abaddon
Lyricist：Charles Corpus, Adam Jackson
Agathodaemon, he sighs in his whispers towards the skies
You tyrants unfit for this phantasm, cowered to prestige
In his reconciled nest, just as you promised from his last glimpse of life
The sunlight blinds his eyes, fallen is abandon, she has become a cell
For demons for every foul bird, every beast
For the angels have drunk the wine of her licentious passion
The kings of the sky have fucked her untouched
Strike down the blistering sun downtrodden aura hoax
The sidewinders pave the way to Orcus necropolis black
Abaddon lay wretched in disgust, exhaled by the breath of god
Onto glass as though it was scribbled in my flesh, you die
Silver flames stare back at me and stretch from his chin
To crash down on my skull
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Long faced descendant why must you gather at the stage of my fall?
You should be crawling at the side of my foot as dragon and belie
I saw Michael with the key, as imprisoned wings curl
Detached from forever from heaven down Arioc Uzziel
Down Moloch and so very low he climbs beneath the dead
Below the orchid blossom
Go now cherub unfeeling, sew your fragrance sadness
Into the quilts of those who wish to wither in you blink
As I spit gist in your mind as you are no glistening son of mine
Wrestle you pawn through three hundred and sixty sullen degrees
Of patients unknown
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