Weapon of Choice

I wish you happy birthday beloved antichrist
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, wrapped 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