Emissary hailing from forgotten depths of Hell,
your eyes contain no soul within, but pitch black empty wells.
A wasteland fills the wake of your relentless heavy tread,
hopes and dreams crushed underfoot and victims left for dead.
Long and mournful wails wind high into the night
past fitful shreds of clouds that scrape across the moonless sky.
Tormentor of the lambs,
Terror of the Age,
The book of time lays open wide, your fate upon the page.
Gears the size of galaxies crack free of ancient rust
and the Cosmic Eye rolls round its orb
to see you ground to dust.