He Whose Heart Is Heavy With Sin

Carved from crumbling walls
Painted black with feathers of hope
Gold leaves strangling the neck
You snatch the souls from the jaws of death
As the sound of your shaking breath
Slowly quivers down the backbone
Dark bird shadows nourished by your own
People’s fears solemnly rise in the distance
Corpses to the jackles buried in the mud
Rotting black colours of decaying limbs
Corpses to the jackles lowered in the dust
Rotting stench seeping into the nostrils
He whose heart is heavy with sin
Feeding on Corpses
He whose heart is heavy with sin
Shall be ripped to pieces
You weigh the scales for the dead
In desperate search for eternity
Scavengers or guardians of hope?
How (actually) pure is your heart?