Satan's Prefix

Sleepy limbs of death’s apprentice,
Lovingly caress the body that is wringed in tense,
What is this facade but God’s pretense,
Trim thy garments with scarlet,
Soft cries never had a bet,
In hell it’s known to be hot,
What is the use to be the one who fought,
Dripping decay of nature’s love,
All run to his arms from above,
In turmoil they will suffer,
And their sins they will stress to buffer.