Forged In Fools

Ride for the capture.
The tide of the rapture.
Call to the wind.
Until we must turn in.
Are these sights all true?
Or do we create them for you?
Soon my head does spin.
Leave us not in sin.

This decree on burnt parchment is not signed.
Whoever did draft it must have not been aligned.
For the words are unworthy and the lines go askew.
He who did write this is not one of you.

Pride before a fall.
Here does come the gall.
Face of painted red.
Puts these souls to bed.
But should we listen well?
Or end this hate filled swell?
What little does remain.
May come back round again.

This decree on burnt parchment is not signed.
Whoever did draft it must have not been aligned.
For the words are unworthy and the lines go askew.
He who did write this is not one of you.

With a spectre in the closet,
And a mouse in your chest.
Rumbles and ruptures will be your final test.
So never walk amongst the pleasures of flesh.
For if you dare dwell here,
Then down will come the blade upon your pretty heads.

This decree on burnt parchment is not signed, in blood.
Whoever did draft it must have not been aligned, before in came the flood.
For the words are unworthy and the lines go askew, they do.
He who did write this is not one amongst any of you.