Souls of infidel men
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Is a fertile soul
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Like dusky forest grow
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On fallen leaves
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We draw the essence of mortal weakness
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Holyness - The worst gift of light
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Is long dead and gone
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Buried by our sisters ages ago
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Whilst the sun rapes the day
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Grow borns below
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Armoured and strengthened
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Are the sons of the moon
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And not blood keeps us alive
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Souls of infidel men
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Flow through our veins
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One last silent scream
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One last breath
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The moment we appear from the shadows
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To inhale another soul
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Of an infidel man..
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Soil of Souls
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Abigor |