Serenading Sister Death

The dirge singer stands under leering gold gods.

Glaring from the ceiling of their dome, gold leaf home.

Risen from the ashes of the once great Rome.

The plagues and the burnings, are punishment divine.

The singer can't understand why our god's don't love men,

The treasures not here, but in columns and ruins,

The Byzantine rape of communion.

Intrigue of repentance and foul sins.

The dirge singers sings:

"Why are there more dead,

Than living fellow men?

Why are the bodies,

burning through the night?

Why is everyone I love destined to die?

Why are we hated by unseen beings,

Why can't we promote peace above ancient creeds??

Dressed in black the Dirge Singer approaches the alter,

he stares in the wine, the prophet's blood,

the one who died then lived.

The primitive and brutal rights, the Catholic powers,

Admonish men to flay their backs, and want their final hours,

Sister Death is always here, a pleasant mistress in the night,

to take the singer's family into the white light,

With perfect human inner strength he has Death, by his side.

A troubadour before they existed,

singing songs for the dead, a practice illegal, pagan, and twisted,

but the Dirge Singer loves Dead as much as he loves (a)god,

and in passion he lusts to romance her,

because before the gates of pilgrim's Zion is Death, god's merciful sister.