Take

I can smell it on their fur Crimson still wet from the slaughter The odor of murder hangs on their feral breath They tarnish holy ground With the filth they've reveled in Fangs salivating over the souls brought to the altar If these walls could talk They would expose all the lies If these walls could find a voice  What a grave hymn they would sing Is an angel still a saint, even after it lost its wings? A demon a devil, when they lay down their tine? Blood cries out from tarnished gowns Innocence soaked through the floor boards Depraved in mind, deprived of truth They host off the least of these A rapacious bite, behind a snow white sheet A wolf covered in the dressings designed for sheep They coil up their spines Lay waiting before their snares Traps set with a psalm and a holy name on their lips The same teeth that preach of peace Sink into flesh until their victims grow weak What they want they take Despite of what's at stake Blood cries out from tarnished gowns Innocence soaked through the floor boards Depraved in mind, deprived of truth They host off the least of these A rapacious bite, behind a snow white sheet A wolf covered in the dressings designed for sheep False prophet False prophet Sharp is the sickle, den of robbers The reaping hour is drawing nigh, brood of vipers Den of robbers Brood of vipers Den of robbers Brood of vipers I can smell it on their fur Crimson still wet from the slaughter Dressed in purity but there's bloods on their hands