We're the Children of God, loyal and faithful,
Who've lost their way along the path,
Sharia be damned and our pillars yet crumble,
We're messengers of Muhammad and all that he hath.
These tormented souls who wander and wonder,
Corrupted by sin, these kin of mine,
I, Amit Abd-al Ahad,
must ease the heavy burden off of their lives.
I carry the brand of renegade,
recreant and betrayer both mark my face,
and so I liberate their sin as my own,
and this, mine, contribution to God.
There they lay, soulless shells,
innocence trapped in a bullet,
fired from the acclaimed Children of God,
Two, Kouachi, the corrupted.
Hush, my brothers, let the darkness flow out,
as the life fades from your maddening eyes,
No worries, my friends, the cleansing is near,
Only purity awaits you in Jannah, now die.
Tame now, are my kin whom once lusted for blood,
reborn in the garden, they spend time anew,
but I have chosen to reap only sin,
that others may dance in Paradise too.
My name is Death, servant of no one but My God.
