Pride be a bride
And a savage turner of the tide
The tide, it turned
For the angel that burned…
Pride was the bride
Of the angel that lied,
To many others than himself,
Taking deadly sins right off the shelf:
Superbia, invidia,
Ira et acedia;
Avaritia, gula, luxuria…
Disgracefuly, he fell into the pits
Never did he leave these feats.
He rages in our minds like tempest,
Still thinking he is God, the greatest.
Pride be the bride
Of the demon that died
Ravana held the highest powers,
But Rama knew Ravana cowers.
Contemptuous and proud
The scholar is, when asking Brahma gifts.
But afterwards he screams out loud
As one man’s sword through him it lifts
Cutting open the demon’s chest,
Laying all that pride to rest.
Pride be a beautiful bride,
But one must cast it aside
In his Pride the wicked does not seek Him,
And oh! I’d say he’s dim!
Superbia can seduce the purest soul,
People don’t see it dark as coal.
It appears as light,
But it is blight!
Do not be tricked, oh! by the vile,
Prince of demons called Belial.
Embrace it once, you’ll feel it sweet,
Embrace it twice, you’ll feel the heat.
Embrace it three times,
You’ll see thy crimes
And if you don’t see past your pride
The Angel of Death shalt be your bride.
It will rid your body of thy soul,
The soul will burn all out like coal…
Do not be dim, and do seek Him!
Pride be the bride
Of the man that foolishly died…