sunrise over locus mortis

the dark and cold wastelands of grey dust softens when my downturned, triangular teardrops covers the ground, this secret got lost to the shepherd's flock, my burning skin connects with the sands of time, and thus the holy angels appear. "drag them through the mud", i cried "instead of me", "this is not the death i choose, your christian trials are wrong!", i speak of what i want, and my heart lies therein, blackened you say, then black is my way, and call me an enemy, i shall only stand proud, awaiting the rise of the darkside, sunrise over locus mortis