I wish you happy birthday beloved anti-Christ Is Babylon your mother or your hired wife? I know you hate your daddy, but you’re made in his mould Gave you the gift of pain, wrap in a blood red bow
Under blood, of the moon Voices sing of your doom and your weapon of choice
You look like such a fool beneath that jester’s crown Crowley’s got one too, as he knees before the throne Your friends lie on their crosses, silver hammers coming down Stretched out on a platter, with apples in their mouths (dear god no)
Under blood, of the moon Voices sing of your doom and your weapon of choice
My name is ambition, Sit back and let it slide Fear, guilt and shame, like sleeping pills and red wine I know where you live… …watching you grow numb
Under blood, of the moon Voices sing of your doom and your weapon of choice