In my last days, I saw illusions,
I saw only pain, on sacrificial altars
These embedded masses, waiting to be exiled
Perpetrating chaos, in this purist's form

Flaccid scum, the unbelievers,
Await their fate at the end of pillars,
Carved the stones with subordinate hands,
Pile them high for us to commence,

Victims aren't we all, in trust in one another,
The streams of blood run on, to die for one another
Victims aren't we all, in trust in one another,
The streams of blood run on, to die for one another

Carved (our) ruins on this apothecary,
Blood spilt on the night of witching
With all the patronized beings gone
On this altar we shall rise

Victims aren't we all, in trust in one another,
The streams of blood run on, to die for one another,
Victims aren't we all, in trust in one another,
The streams of blood run on, to die for one another.

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