Winds of Wintry Woe

Scream forth blasphemies, oh winter wind Skin alive the worthless children of heaven In Algor mortis Even as the flames burn them away The sorrow of solitude is transcendence in and of itself To me this is paradise, to the weak, hell Pure hatred for the meek and weak willed The servants of God, they will die, they will. The will to serve through winds of wintry woes Is not meant for those Lusting for a paradise lost Yet proclaiming it's a sin to lust. As the day shall rise from autumn death Oh, the winds shall give forth Earth's new breath Cry not at this dawn of rebirth Nature trumps your messiah in all its worth.