Field Of The Impaled — Devourment

Dark days of crimson skies and fields of those forsaken The king that called for a higher brand of suffering be inflicted

His masses bent to serve his lust His will to impale all who oppose With force driven through a wooden pole Death would not come so soon for most

Forced through the anus smashing through internal organs Splinters tearing tissue, ripping through the sinew gushing pus Some were pulled with force, causing blood to shower the fertile ground Some were left to slowly drift, inch by inch, day by day Breathing while the stake would slowly pierce through their body Feeling every ounce of ungodly pain, completely coherent

Day one the spike will pierce the stomach's inner wall The victim will defecate from the hell bestowed upon Day two the spike runs through the diaphragm into the throat The uncontrollable twitching cannot prepare to the day that follows

Day three's come, suffering taken to unreal heights The spike emerged from the mouth, and the pig is stuck Eyes forced up to watch the sky and the bloodstained tip Forced in place to suffer as death slowly creeps in

The prince of darkness gazes proudly A field of impaled ten thousand strong Suffering of unparalleled proportions To strike fear into hearts of purity