Song parody of
Desolation Pt I: O Son of Man
by Ensepulchre
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Woe to those who dwell upon the earth, Ye saith unto the wicked
I shall make ye desolate forever, And fill ye mountains with the dead
Arise, O son of man, go forth to the land of iniquity
Their heretic shades shall rise no more
O son of man
Thou shalt speak my words unto them
Whether they shall hear
Or forbear
Thy hath forsaken me
Layth siege upon thine wicked men
His blood I shall require at thine hand
Spare not women, children, sheep and lamb
As darkness pours through the door
O ye shall know I am God
Behold, I hath corrupt thy seed, and spread dung upon thine faces
Wicked men shall die in his iniquity
As desolation grows, so too does the hate
The seven who hold the trumpets
That are yet to sound
This abhorrent life, this weight that bears upon my soul
I shall cast down your slain men before thine idols
I shall lay the dead carcasses of thine children before thee
I shall scatter your bones around your altars
In all your dwelling places the cities shall be laid waste
Thy groves burnt with fire, thine cities shall never be rebuilt
Thine hills, valleys, and streams will be filled with the people
The people slaughtered by the sword
Woe unto the foolish prophets, that speak thine words in vain
Thou speaketh yet have seen nothing! Vanity, lying divination
There shall be an overflowing shower, O great hailstones shall fall
There shall be no more peace here, thou shalt know I am God
O son of man, when I passed by thee
Polluted in thine own blood
I saith unto thee, Live
When thou wast in thy blood, Live
Woe to those who dwell upon the earth, Ye saith unto the wicked
I shall make ye desolate forever, And fill ye mountains with the dead
Arise, O son of man, go forth to the land of iniquity
Their heretic shades shall rise no more
O son of man
Thou shalt speak my words unto them
Whether they shall hear
Or forbear
Thy hath forsaken me
Layth siege upon thine wicked men
His blood I shall require at thine hand
Spare not women, children, sheep and lamb
As darkness pours through the door
O ye shall know I am God
Behold, I hath corrupt thy seed, and spread dung upon thine faces
Wicked men shall die in his iniquity
As desolation grows, so too does the hate
The seven who hold the trumpets
That are yet to sound
This abhorrent life, this weight that bears upon my soul
I shall cast down your slain men before thine idols
I shall lay the dead carcasses of thine children before thee
I shall scatter your bones around your altars
In all your dwelling places the cities shall be laid waste
Thy groves burnt with fire, thine cities shall never be rebuilt
Thine hills, valleys, and streams will be filled with the people
The people slaughtered by the sword
Woe unto the foolish prophets, that speak thine words in vain
Thou speaketh yet have seen nothing! Vanity, lying divination
There shall be an overflowing shower, O great hailstones shall fall
There shall be no more peace here, thou shalt know I am God
O son of man, when I passed by thee
Polluted in thine own blood
I saith unto thee, Live
When thou wast in thy blood, Live
