Trembling, fearing, humans pray
Like cowards with moral decay.
Oh the stress and pressure highly odd
Of being a Destroyer god.

From keeping track of prophecies
To tact and strange diplomacies,
A chosen few are cursed to trod
The path of a Destroyer god.

While every deity and boss
Gets admiration and applause,
No god nor mortal dare applaud
The works of a Destroyer god.

Lonely, grumpy, tired of life –
In hand, my sacrificial knife –
The destruction, far and broad
For I am a Destroyer god.

Not your mother’s soothing voice,
Not her gentle lullabye
No comfort as you wish for death –
That I would let you die.

She never taught you right from wrong –
That conceited selfish whore
The respect you never learned
and will not matter anymore.

Not your wife’s angelic touch,
Instead a blade against your skin.
It never mattered how you conquered,
Just that you would always win.

Not the courage of a man
In knowing death is near –
No song of comfort in this night
Shall reach your waiting ear.

I never really questioned
Responding to my dagger’s call.
Death’s angel beckoned in my heart
Demanding your torment and fall.

Sometime we may have been kindred
Sometime we may have been the same
Now you will lose more than you thought
On what you thought was a game.

Not your father’s searching –
You know he never cared
Yet you hold on with dying hope
To what little time you shared.

Did you know how this would end –
Of everything you never learned
How they would find your body here
Disfigured, mutilated, burned.

War, Famine, Genocide, Disease, Poverty
Intolerance, Ignorance, Injustice,
Suffering, Sorrow, Seclusion,
My Sadness,
My Afflictions,
My Hatred –
You can make all these things disappear
but you do not.

Behold the three that rule and reign the delusions of the sane –
The haunted memories that govern thought — that lead to ruin, strife, and pain
View the bind with which it holds, view the terror it unfolds
View the foolishness of seeking that which life itself withholds

The curse of love destroys the soul — a demon that demands control
convincing all these broken pieces into seeking an imperfect whole.
A conflict with no resolution, love is, above all, a grand delusion
And if love is the Creator God, I fail to see its grandest vision.

The curse of rage is man’s design, forged in the fires of the divine
A freedom celebrated as we dangle from the vintner’s vine
Though we are never truly free, rage defines humanity
and thus described, it devours the fate of our society

Of all these curses I hold dear, I hold closest the curse of fear
The quiet guiding comfort that found me at an early year
In the darkness where I hide, fear is always by my side
Its ruling crown dictating choices that I reluctantly decide.