Product of the Mind
With hands of fate, the dead man plays,
Thus endeavor to escape his fate,
Throughout the morning of judgement day
He shuffles his way down the road of death.
He runs from the executioner
Away from his deliverer
Raining to the lands of Lucifer
Who made him a harbinger.
The murdered becomes a scourge,
He never seemed so sinister.
He stands opposing his vanquisher,
He only knows to massacre.
He's but a slave to Lucifer
He sold his soul to escape his crime.
Doomed to live a half life
For his crime his soul must pay.
Upon violent shores he's cast away
Through mistakes he made.
He must repay
For such evil foul play
Results of which he will lonely slay
Through endless madness, he must endure
Until the day wastes away.