Shrovetide is violated by heathens
Nefarious splurges of sin
Persuasion is trembling with fever
And became a mantra of occult tongues
Mankind enclasped Doom
He turned his back on God
Virtue became ultra-decadence
We are all libertines of the damned

A Fidei Defensor arises,
Flogged and whipped from head to foot
The body cleansed by self-flagellation,
Supressed the lust of flesh and blood

Night after night grim voices shriek
In portentous horror dreams,
Even though his room was locked,
But a Seraph comes unseen
The bloodstained walls surround him,
Icons made of Calvary wounds
Dreams of riddance were shattered in sin,
Ill-fated to avert doom

Let me embrace my fate which was adrift and hung
I will be again the apple of his eye
Take me from among the doomed Laodiceans
Whose defamation thrilled the seething skies

The man started to cry, hands held to the sky,
And expected to be purified in flames
But the Angel smiled and took the Book
And commanded his holy mandate

"The Lord foresees thy mother's advent
Into the ranks of Paradise
So spare him grief and deep distress
And take her worthless life
But shall she be refined in Thine holy light?
Her spirit will shine will thousand suns
Condone my doubt, but who am I?
The haranguing priest of the newborn Herod king

The Fallen Seraph lowered his radiant mask
And showed the man the countenance of the fallen Morningstar

Night after night his skin was flogged
Damn those recurrent dreams
Desperately flogging for relief
While murmuring blasphemies
The bloodstained walls surround him,
Icons made of Calvary wounds
Dreams of riddance were shattered in sin,
Ill-fated to avert doom

Let me embrace my fate which was adrift and hung
I will be again the apple of his eye
Take me from among the doomed Laodiceans
Whose defamation thrilled the seething skies

"Christ, enthroned in highest heavens,
Hear me crying from the deep,
For the fateful ones departed,
For the souls in a Laodicean sleep
King of Glory, hear my voice
Grant thy Faithful rest, I pray
I have sinned, and may not bide it,
If you mark my steps astray
She is Thine, O take her quickly
Thou art her hope, O raise her high
Ever hoping, ever trusting,
Unto Thee I strive and cry
Let them through thy boundless mercy
From all evil be restored
Hearken to the voices pleading
Of Thy Church, O gracious Lord!"

The Fallen Seraph lowered his radiant mask
And showed the man the countenance of the fallen Morningstar
The man seemed stricken by a thousand bludgeons
Penetrating just-healed wounds as foreplay for the storm