Field of the Impaled

Dark days of crimson skies and fields of those forsaken
 The king that called for a higher brand of suffering be inflicted 

His masses bent to serve his lust
 His will to impale all who oppose
 With force driven through a wooden pole
 Death would not come so soon for most 

Forced through the anus smashing through internal organs
 Splinters tearing tissue, ripping through the sinew gushing pus
 Some were pulled with force, causing blood to shower the fertile ground
 Some were left to slowly drift, inch by inch, day by day
 Breathing while the stake would slowly pierce through their body
 Feeling every ounce of ungodly pain, completely coherent 

Day one the spike will pierce the stomach's inner wall
 The victim will defecate from the hell bestowed upon
 Day two the spike runs through the diaphragm into the throat
 The uncontrollable twitching cannot prepare to the day that follows 

Day three's come, suffering taken to unreal heights
 The spike emerged from the mouth, and the pig is stuck
 Eyes forced up to watch the sky and the bloodstained tip
 Forced in place to suffer as death slowly creeps in 

The prince of darkness gazes proudly
 A field of impaled ten thousand strong
 Suffering of unparalleled proportions
 To strike fear into hearts of purity