Soil of Souls

Souls of infidel men 
Is a fertile soul 
Like dusky forest grow 
On fallen leaves 
We draw the essence of mortal weakness 
Holyness - The worst gift of light 
Is long dead and gone 
Buried by our sisters ages ago 
Whilst the sun rapes the day 
Grow borns below 
Armoured and strengthened 
Are the sons of the moon 
And not blood keeps us alive 
Souls of infidel men 
Flow through our veins 
One last silent scream 
One last breath 
The moment we appear from the shadows 
To inhale another soul 
Of an infidel man..