Serpent of death, child of the darkness
A servant to torture, a slave to power
Twisting his mind, the ways of the wicked
Ten thousand eyes, hiding the glory
Who could have known, death was a blessing
The power he holds, witness the progress
His senses unfold; the choice has been made
Eyes lit with fire, a snake in disguise
Collector of souls, the work must go on More from Nocturnal Rites