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Possessor of Lost Souls - text

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Its white marbled halls
Hide the horrors of Hell
Stare into the eyes
of the long-dead undertaker
At his command
is a horde of cloaked shrunken corpses
and flying metal spheres
With a penchant for blood
Three hundred years old
His flesh and blood are cold
Born at the Gates of Hell
He awaits for souls to possess
Possess
Possessor of lost souls
Nocturnal beast
with poisonous blood
Shrinks the corpses
and turns them into his slaves
stacking them in coffins,
the inverted cross carved,
he transports the caskets
to a parallel world below
Three hundred years old
His flesh and blood are cold
In the old burial ground
Waiting for more souls to possess
Possess
Possessor of lost souls
Shrunken corpses storm the town
speaking in tongues unknown
no one will hear your cries
no escape from the dead that won't die
Possessor of lost souls

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