The Beast on the Cross

Saddened loads of a rugged cross 

These guns don't shoot roses 

These guns don't shoot 

These guns don't shoot unless the trigger pull 

Triggers don't get pulled by shaky fingers 

Shaky fingers make poor aims 

Aims of a poisoned dart don't strike to wound

Only the wounded seek revenge 

Dead men don't count so ghosts hate numbers 

They walk alone 

And if the dead walk alone 

Hell must be scanty 

Where loneliness prevail 

Evil abound 

Demons at crossroads looking for fun 

Feeding the belly of the beast 

As lions are beasts then beasts do roar 

When beasts roar furry 

Death comes in a hurry 

Embracing the warmth of it's victims 

Unless the rugged cross repels 

Where a beast was hung to defeat death 

The beast a lion 

A lion of a tribe 

And if the tribe is Judah then Judas is doomed 

The beast on the cross a single army 

His roars of thunders 

Even death repels 

And when you stand with his single army 

The aims at you will shoot you roses 

Not bullets not darks just rosy roses 

And 2015 will end up rosy