He has spoken Rise not falter Scythe must cut them down They are nothing Herds of fodder
Simple pawns of deathâs cold sermon I climb the stairs I scale the walls Pry open doors I feel their breathing Weave amongst them unrelenting Con them as their own Darkened spaces Ritual graves Simple pawns of deathâs cold sermon To take the knife to empty souls This hymn of blood I feel their breathing All led up to this Boundaries cease to exist Slave brandish the whip Master forced to submit All led up to this
Womb untimely ripped Slave brandish the whip Master forced to submit
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