Miadante, Masque of Deathe

In murders long soliloquy
There lurk macabre epiphanies
And as foretold in prophecy
Miadante came to be

'Twas born to a demon on a dying sun
Where children are eaten just for fun
He rose to take his rightful place
As butcher of the human race

Many are his ways of spoil
Depending on his mood. He'll boil
In hot wax, or cleave, or flay,
Or fill your veins with keen decay.

He knows naught of pity or love
Just murder by the thorned glove
He'll break your teeth and take your ears
And drink deep your precious salty tears

He'll rape your soul and crush your will
But not before your body's filled
With hungry rats and other treats
That gnaw and chew your inner meats
Headless corpses, sundered limbs
Pleasing are these words to him

But what of those that chose to fight
And rid the world of Miadante's plight?
Their bones lie damp in hellish grounds
Their innards food for his Hades hounds
Who next will feel the splintered breath
Of Miadante, Masque of Deathe?

Never will his spirit die
For as long as there is sea and sky
You'll hear the flutter of his wings
I am the songbird of death, he sings