Cryptic Nightmares

He can feel it in his bones
The tides are turning
The seeds have been sewn
The tides are turning.

He can feel it in his bones
His mind is burning
The seeds have been sewn
His mind is burning.

He can feel it in his bones
The tides are turning
The seeds have been sewn
The tides are turning.

An eternal flame burns within him
All the power of the stars flow through his soul
A great unease forged in the cold depths
It torments the dreams of a vulnerable south
Vivid visions of pain and suffering
Such fear can only lead to darkness
He will not embrace death the nature of the universe.

Writhing through his thoughts
Like maggots in flesh
Waking in cold sweat
Each and every night.

Twisting, contorting, flailing, tortured
Manipulated by this black spectre of prophecy
Images of suffering, death to the innocent
He's growing ever stronger, the pieces fall in place
Lecherous thoughts betray his sacred vows
He is but a pawn in a game to wake a nightmare
Blinded by desires, passion is his downfall
Ruthless brutality wasted on the weak.

Writhing through his thoughts
Like maggots in flesh
Waking in cold sweat
Each and every night.