They Hurt

I summon thee 
From the heavenly halls 
I summon thee 
From the depths of hell 
The present voice of 
Those of spirit and flesh 
Sound feeble 
Is dying 

This life s 
Being consumed 
Rotting wings 
All around 
This place of hate 
And madness 
Is on their 
Weak shoulders 

A silent prayer 
To the past 
Awake the 
Exalted one 
May thy eyes 
Rest upon us all 
Restore the 
Kingdom of will 

The gates of time 
Guards of fools 
Are falling to pieces 
At the stake 
The masks of 
The dead 
Shall burn 
Burn