His Arch Angel Michael Twelve Stars the Sun

You know, tis somewhat easy to understand Apollyon as your Crew holding a tad bit, in misery projecting towards an imperfect Time but cool kids just never hold signs I mean Abaddon can't you see Kind of like Toad The Wet Sprocket's, in the end I'm sensing a change the weather Does anyone remember me ? Did you all think we'd just disappear ? Crazy life.... Swoosh his tail their Angels fell: metaphoric make-up twas her modern tale: sitting Atop the sea sweet, drunken Jezabel ? Spawned his bastard Damien's, tattooed dreams Six pence collections thrice their infections blue blood injections Legion's, special olympics Lucifer's serpents raging towards the golden goal evanescent's mountaintop his goad keeper goblins Pressing this matter it's silver sickle auld lang syne her bride of Frankenstein; Electra thighs, red rum wine.