Fist of a Crusader
A count of darkness and power; he walks
Manipulating with fright and harnessing his greed
A non-causcoid with some of God's grace
Sheds his skin at his face, while looking into his eyes
Count of darkness, my friend
Living to cure

A man of faith lists his ungodly sins
The dagger of time is slitting his wrists
He floats away in the river of time
To the labyrinth, the enemy of man

The sword of god, The hand of justice
An almighty slayer such walks
Engrave his name on ivory, unforgettable
The massacre

I watch his fort in his throne of night
Brought to ruins by the flames of time
A man of sin fulfills his craving void
Rests his head to the ideals of faith
Does the actual prevailing justice await?
Or this non-ideal world meets another one of it's closed gates