Their groans are a language
naming ghouls and demons
They get lost in their sick addictions
dedicating themselves to vindictiveness
He got on the bus casually
after successfully destroying a few good people
It was his version of fun actually
Impaling priests on their church steeples
The light granted me a spiritual axe and told me to chase
And chase I did with a mindless robot grace
Hunting the evil entities and wounding them
setting free their traumatized victims
Before the bus hit the second dim
And the decent got murky and riled
All wholesome things wrapped in hideous denial
The smirk on the devil´s lost son
was leaking truck oil
and his mouth burped exhaust fumes
T´was he who invited me to kill him
until he arrived in hell
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