Crossroads

I beheld him in a dream,
Waiting where the roads cross.
His suit was white,
His skin was grey and broken around hollow ebony eyes,
Like holes in the fabric of existence.
When he smiled a preacher-smile at me,
Lightning set the sky ablaze,
In the flash I saw maggots crawl beneath his fragile face.
He sits behind you on a molding throne of ravished corpses and misused technology.
He lurks around the corner of "reality",
Beyond the realm of rationality.

He needs your flesh for his unholy desire.
He needs your hands for his filthy deeds.
He needs tongue for his deadly bite,
His slander and deceit.
(He is disgraced,
He has no flesh.
All that was fair,
Now twisted and wrong.
Evil, unclean, he burns.)

Older than sin itself,
He is the curse,
He is the spell.
Apostate of hell,
All around him is death.
He is the beast under your bed,
He is the darkness in your darkest dream.
He needs your flesh...

His kingdom is smoke and mirrors,
As hope that dies,
Where all is death and whispers of the grave.
His promise is freedom that turns you into a slave.
Take the road to the cross!
He needs your flesh...