Days of the Beast

We stand on top of the bluff,
With the river behind our backs,
We watch as the houses burn,
And the fields all turn to black,
There's thunder up in the mountains,
And a storm coming in from the East,
Cries of despair unheard in the hailstones,
These are the days of the Beast.

We pray to the Gods in vain,
Prostrate at their feet of clay,
Tearing a page from the book of the dead,
To recite on the judgement day,
The death knell sounds for the fate of the Kings,
And the slaughter of the priests,
Children damned by the sins of their fathers,
These are the days of the Beast.

We fly like thieves in the night,
Then we scatter like ash on the wind,
Keeping a promise forged from a curse,
And an oath we can never rescind,
Bound by these chains of betrayal,
We are never to be released,
Hope is a luxury none can afford now,
These are the days of the Beast.