Flee the Reaper (Doom: The Dark Ages Song)
About this track
[Verse 1] Pilgrimage in steel, a crimson creed, Altar of war where the damned souls bleed, No angel’s hymn, just the march of the dead, A spiked fist writes the gospel, painted red. [Pre-Chorus] "Flee the Reaper" — hell’s finest joke, Prayers are wasted when the ground’s broke, A tank, not a storm — crush the feeble spawn, Every swing is judgment, dawn to drawn-out dawn. [Chorus] Hymn of the grave, the only prayer we know, Blood-soaked frames in the devil’s shadow, No sprint, no flight, just tectonic wrath, The iron apostle carves the aftermath! [Verse 2] Wings of fire scorch the hollowed sky, Steel titan’s roar, the weak shall die, No kingdom left, only ash and bone, The reaper’s dance claims the hellborne throne. [Pre-Chorus] Flesh turns to psalm, the screen’s a haze, Time bends to the slaughter, not your craze, A century’s rage in a single night, Pure fury’s engine — no brake, no light. [Chorus] Hymn of the grave, the only creed we crave, Skull-crusher’s anthem in a nameless cave, No speed, no spark — just the primal toll, The war-machine’s heartbeat devours the scroll! [Bridge] Cursed light bleeds, the machine’s lament, Shackled by false sheen, the engine’s bent, They stretched the clock, but the fist stays true, Twenty-eight hours — hell’s eternity through! [Verse 1] Pilgrimage in steel, a crimson creed, Altar of war where the damned souls bleed, No angel’s hymn, just the march of the dead, A spiked fist writes the gospel, painted red. [Pre-Chorus] "Flee the Reaper" — hell’s finest joke, Prayers are wasted when the ground’s broke, A tank, not a storm — crush the feeble spawn, Every swing is judgment, dawn to drawn-out dawn. [Chorus] Hymn of the grave, the only prayer we know, Blood-soaked frames in the devil’s shadow, No sprint, no flight, just tectonic wrath, The iron apostle carves the aftermath! [Outro] Savior or beast? The question dies, In the static hum of shattered cries, No requiem, just the engine’s groan, You are the horror. You. [Final Chorus] Hymn of the grave, the only prayer we know, Blood-soaked frames in the devil’s shadow, No sprint, no flight, just tectonic wrath, The iron apostle carves the aftermath!