Psycroptic

I watch as you thrash your heads, bowing to a god called metal!
I hear your excited cries – your shouts as if he is speaking within you
The army approaches the battle site.
Sound – versus – auricle.
The group is surrounded by walls that embrace
The tumultuous harmony and then fend it off
into enchanted throng
waves of hair it crashes –
onto a grindingshore....valour....
We all fear the day a time we hope will be years away
Inspection of reflection, recession of hair assaults vision
A balding crown, it meets your eye
screams ring out as you face the sky
Only those, who did choose, to grow their locks
Have this maniacal type trepidation.
...And when not meeting to receive the aural abuse
Worship does not end!
Each devotee has his own eclectic bible
Some with more volumes than the next
Many have similar source of inspiration
Although there are naught that are identical.
Any of those outside the brotherhood shalt not
Understand our ways and we should not expect this
Not until the day when darkness and light are truly one