No more bakers, no more millers
No more worship observed diligent
The indecent and indigent full of fiery spirit
Prayers, unto choruses of snorting and derision
No more good news, no more holy missions
From everburning forges acrid emissions
The act of breeding now requires permissions
Broken hearted, He of the fishes
All love owed God pledged to pillars
Innocents discover the fresh thrill of killing
Ichor’s trill, singing for spilling
Crunching around the village
Tophet of now-cinder children
Opening up an evil building, now send us your children
And they send them willingly.
Alchemisland 
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