Crowds...

A necrotic cattle brand
The hissing downfall pentagram
Carven deep upon the church doors of the damned
But no Passover is planned
A great renewal growls at hand
And only when they're running
Will they come to understand...

So ends the pitiful reign of Man

When the moon exhales
Behind a veil
Of widowhood and clouds
On a Biblical scale
We raise the stakes
To silhouette the impaled
Crowds...