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The faithful flee

Towards the church

Where they might call upon

The Archangels

Ghouls give chase

Up the church’s stairs

Like moth to flame

Their glorious blaze draws near

From the bell

Rings a note so clear

The Ghouls go deaf

And taste their first of fear

From the sky

A sword parts the dark

Descending

Angels answering hark

“The appointed hour

Is still far for thee

Return

To the chattels of Hades

Await the call

Of your rightful Lord

Who brings not peace

But a sword!”