Sadistic Vindicator - All Pigs Must Die

He has spoken

Rise not falter

Scythe must cut them down

They are nothing

Herds of fodder

Simple pawns of death’s cold sermon

I climb the stairs

I scale the walls

Pry open doors

I feel their breathing

Weave amongst them unrelenting

Con them as their own

Darkened spaces

Ritual graves

Simple pawns of death’s cold sermon

To take the knife to empty souls

This hymn of blood

I feel their breathing

All led up to this

Boundaries cease to exist

Slave brandish the whip

Master forced to submit

All led up to this

Womb untimely ripped

Slave brandish the whip

Master forced to submit