Glory Of God

By Frater Mastema

Triumph and glory to the seven stars,
of the victorious god of red Mars,

Banners of noble purpose raised,
many are the mad mongers crazed,

Hearts of god and hands of spears,
flowing river of sad salty tears,

Battles of smoke, sulfur, and flame,
corrupt souls of black to claim,

A god who laughs and mocks,
crushing heads upon the rocks,

Sardonic and majestic glee,
raging storm of killing spree,

What is the folly of our kings,
who stands on angel wings,

And halos hung about the head,
scorched and flicker and flamed red,

Send the horde the bell is struck,
stomping through mud and muck,

Blow the resounding horn,
and send the Calvary through the storm,

Kill the enemy and ground their flesh,
Fathers, brothers and the rest,

When the battles fought and done,
the glorious crimson of setting sun,

Ho! mighty men move on, move on,
battles come with the rising dawn,

Kings and generals blessed by angel light,
pray with vengeance through the night,

That in the glory of each new day,
and in the faithful fury of every fray,

The strain sinew of beast and man,
their spikes and spears everywhere stand,

Lesser is the once proud noble beast,
scarred and eyed with hot pokers cease,

Pleading and crying for divine holy grace,
receives only another to the battered face,

Pity and remorse an entity to unknown swine,
not even a curse to the distant divine,

With feet in fire and fingers broken,
they earn their pay of another token,

Raping defeated foe and their captive wives,
slice to pieces with dull rusty knives,

Pins with nails to a broken wall,
even shrieking they cannot fall,

Gaze at victims with contemplation,
sweat, blood and twisted temptation,

Needle thrust deep inside swell,
plug the waters from the well,

Pour water, a breaking dam,
watch the building breaking jam,

Yet the king who is strolling by,
watches as they slowly die,

Madness is a chalice filled with life,
drink of love and lust and strife,

Death in the field, noble victory,
be damned whom cares of misery,

To god and country and king and land,
beating heart grasped in the hand,

Storm and chaos rend and tear,
bring the sword to their despair,

That with a swing of mighty speed,
sever heads in this mighty deed,

With the truth of the one true sun,
to the field they charge and run,

An endless battle of an endless tale,
an endless scream of an endless wale,

Who is god? Who really cares?
what is the name? What does he wear?

By the light of waxing moon they see,
dark demons of death and majesty,

Lo! Fearest naught good soldier man,
come morning we run, fight, and stand,

Never grow tired of the adrenaline rush,
the feeling arousing and a flush,

Hold the swine in the grip of death,
struggling for a final breath,

My god of glory and infinite light,
mad monster of victory and might,

In your holiest of holy divine good grace,
in the wisdom of your ferocious face,

In your mighty feet stomping the ground,
in your stomping and thunderous sound,

In your eternal abyss and icy stare,
in the abyss of a vicious snare,

That with your strength and banners high,
the wheel of chaos spins the sky,

Upon eight points and the axis spins,
the battered, tattered yang’s and yin’s,

Covet the light atop the blasted tower,
wilted land and tree and flower,

A one true spirit and forever my son,
here is my work divine and done.