My hands are red

Admittedly, the cross is mine

The time is come

Forsake the brine

Alone with the void for a thousand years

I am the first of the reptillian rocketeers

Doom shins its bitter brink

Its goblins casting stench to pave the way

I'm going off to seek the soul

Who'll teach me of the day

A boy will be born in the garden

I'll wait on a patch of green grass

Somehow he'll know to find me there

And place a star upon my crust

We'll trace the crescent's rim

Pawn's pursuit of deliverance

My soul a satchel for musical vim

Then I'll return to save my race