Book of thel de Bruce Dickinson

The mark is on you now
the furnace sealed inside your head
melting from the inside now
waxy tears run down your face
The whore that never told her tale
relives it every night with you
far off stands the lamb and waits
for the wolf to come and end its life
Stand inside the temple
as the book of thel is opening
the priestess stands before you
offering her hand out, she's rising
Come the dawning of the dead
in famine and in war
now the harlot womb of death
spits out its rotten core
Serpent on the altar now
has wrapped itself around your spine
so you look into its mouth
and you kiss the pearly fangs divine
Happy that your end is swift
the weeping virgin cries in bliss
the snake and priestess, they are one
the veil of flesh is ripped undone
Stand inside the temple
as the book of thel is opening
the priestess stands before you
offering her hand out, she's rising
Come the dawning of the dead
in famine and in war
now the harlot womb of death
spits out its rotten core
By the pricking of my thumbs
something wicked this way comes
and when sleep takes you tonight
will you wake to see the
The burning sweat of poison tears
the river flowing red with blood
the cradle-robbing hand of death
caresses every dreaming head
Waiting for the marriage hearse
to take you to the funeral pyre
so you burn the family tree
the generations burning higher
Stand inside the temple
as the book of thel is opening
the priestess stands before you
offering her hand out, she's rising
Come the dawning of the dead
in famine and in war
now the harlot womb of death
spits out its rotten core
By the pricking of my thumbs
something wicked this way comes
and when sleep takes you tonight
will you wake to see the light
By the dawning of the
by the dawning of the
by the dawning of the
by the dawning of the
What demon hath formed this abominable
this soul-shuddering vacuum?
some said it is urizen -
but unknown, abstracted, brooding secret
the dark power hid