Rusted crucifixes,

And the sign of imminent death,

All hail her god,

The one that gives us breath.

Marching forward,

Ashes of loved ones floating in midair,

Settling on her shoulder,

For her daemons are always there.

In a magickal fury,

She fixes her gaze,

Set to prolong,

The end of our days.

The principle of fallacy,

Inverted and darkened,

The princess of the fallen,

And her heart is hardened.

They praise her god in secret,

When everyone looks away,

At least their god allowed each year,

For them to hail her god one day.

It is the mark of the deviants,

Who always pave the way,

It is the princess of the fallen,

Who will lead the world astray.