Lucifer the Broken Mould

Alone He stands, forsaken, on the edge of desperation

Apocalyptic tales of hate filled desecration

The unholy one devoid of any love nor hellish glory

Lies revealed within the telling of his story

 

Cast from Heavens favour, fractured from the light

Home at last to labour, in the vacancy of night

No choice but to be Bad for Good no chance of Gods Redemption

Racked by indignation at His screaming souls exemption

 

Mans destiny lies written in a wake of tortured souls

Ancient gnarled fingers hold His bloodstained begging bowl

Bathed in hellish beauty of a future yet unborn

Hell hath no more fury than a fallen angels scorn

 

His horsemen blaze a fiery trail across the barren sky

From Hades gates they ride not caring who or even why

Brands of fire, hooves of Steel, their blood it drips as sweat

The only quest before them, to cash in the Devils debt

 

The ace of spades is drawn from the Devils book of prayer

The gambler knows his race is run and death is drawing near

No silver in his pockets for the boatmans sordid toll

The last debt yet to pay….. his very soul

 

A necessary evil for a Devil to be shod

For without the fires of Hell, how can mankind know of God

As Judas in Gethsemane condemned to take the fall

Was Lucifers faith written out  in blood upon the wall

 

Unanswered questions . . .

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