Oh noble kings of the land
Crowned by wisdom passed down from the Son of Man
Your anointed yourselves
With such avarice, the world recoiled in abhorrence

Oh brave heroes of Yore
Your mighty arms reduced nations to gore
So find rest in your loss
For your sacrifice will indeed be forgotten

Now there's mold growing in our hearts
Our self-inflicted wounds no longer weep with blood

Let this house of ache
be torn asunder
Its foundation scattered
far and wide
Soon the mortar shells
will growl like thunder
The great void awaits,
in its darkness, we'll all abide

Oh meek prophets of old
Blessed by the hands that carried the Cross
With your forked tongues
You whispered the sweetest lies ever told

Fealty chocking the soul
Words turning brothers into enemies sworn
Yet against all the odds
Your faithful flock was left craving for answers

Now there's mold growing in our hearts
Our self-inflicted wounds no longer weep with blood

Let this house of ache
be torn asunder
Its foundation scattered
far and wide
Soon the mortar shells
will growl like thunder
The great void awaits,
in its darkness, we'll all abide

All that's left is scorn
All that's left is hope forlorn
All that's left is scorn
All that's left is hope... forlorn

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