Weapon of Choice

I wish you happy birthday beloved antichrist

Is Babylon your mother or your hired wife?

I know you hate your daddy, but you’re made in his mould

Gave you the gift of pain, wrapped in a blood red bow



Under blood of the moon

Voices sing of your doom

And your weapon of choice



You look like such a fool beneath that jester’s crown

Crowley’s got one too, as he knees before the throne

Your friends lie on their crosses, silver hammers coming down

Stretched out on a platter, with apples in their mouths

Dear God, no



Under blood of the moon

Voices sing of your doom

And your weapon of choice



My name is ambition, sit back and let it slide

Fear, guilt and shame, like sleeping pills and red wine

I know where you live…

…watching you grow numb



Under blood of the moon

Voices sing of your doom

And your weapon of choice