Lance Carthen (4-10-81 / Mineral Wells, TX)

Black orbs project the dead sea
The last remnants of the lost prophecy
Mercenaries seeking their claim to fame
Destroying the ashe's of a once good name
Greed is their lust, good intentions slowly rust
With each child born with evil's shame
Darkness engulfs the sky and the saved cry
As the reveled presence claims it prize
Hungry for eternity, tattoed with mortality
Their trust in nature deceiving
Not realizing their thoughts misleading
Anything to gain forever
The greed pushes with all its power
Its domain now belonging to the prowler
The leader places the crown atop his head
His veins swell and tears are shed
Screaming out in agony, he throws it the grown
But its far too late, his nature will lead to the grave
The crowns thorns have pricked his head
The bleeding intensifies his eyes turn red
Someone so bad wanted to be the christ
But when they felt his pain the weak soul quickly died
Generations from now will even seek the power
But the consequenes from the deed will not ponder
We are not put here to play god
As the many will find out
Their souls are lost