The Angels sing,
Their voices crashing,
Booming,
Divine Chaos erupting from their lungs,
Their wings black and burnt,
Their halos cracked and splintered,
Arms scarred and bleeding,
Hearts broken and black,
These are the Angels,
The ones to whom we pray,
Nothing is as it was,
Everything is dead,
Corrupted,
In this age and day.
The choir of Angels,
Sing and sing,
They stroke the flames,
Shake the earth,
Rally the winds,
Goodness is gone,
Now only a myth,
Now only we are left,
The dark,
The damaged,
The bruised and the bleeding.
We are left, to destroy what is left,
And enjoy every minute of it.
And in the end,
The best part of all,
The final masterpiece,
Our own destruction,
The purification of the Earth and the Heavens and the Underworld,
Nothing will be left,
And serenity will come.