Wings of Pain(The Fourth Seal)

Lain proof on heavens gate
Single tear shed for a saint
A final cry for the sane
Before darkness' plane
Once again transcends
Envelopes all in the shroud
And with it ends
Foolish thoughts of the proud

The holy mother, swaddle in her bosom
And to my brother, leave the wisdom
Cradled in lunacy, disease of the weak
A mind impure, unable to think
The sickness spreads, Down the tree
My open arms, Unto thee
The fruit of the vine
Ripe with rot
Descendants of mine
Surely will not
Bear this burden, feel this loss
Lift their curse, carry their cross

If I'm the last, its not in vein
It dies with me, the final stain
Lineage lifted from sorrow
If sickness dwells not in the morrow.
If the blood carries the curse
Then bleed me dry
Lose me In broken verse
On wings of pain I'll fly