Hexvessel - Wayward Confessor

King of death
Your unshackled ghouls are tumbling on the borders
Now race through goblet moons of ash
Like convicts on the loose

Tearing down my inner walls
Like a hymnbook's tattered cover

As all my abandoned unions
From a vast and monstrous church

Burn the confessor, the ancient woods
Of each mans work are felled by the devils craft
Damn the confessor, his name is barbed
With a war of ins that drip on heavens tongue

A saint that starts to fall on squawking claws
Of an unknown predator

Lost to tribes of insane hordes
And devoured in a sickly desert
Of vows that break and bend
And suffocate… and frighten

The thorn in his side, the holy ghost
The host that heals the chosen

And oh my congregation
Do you think that we will forget?
away with your redemption
For I don't know how to forgive