Cutting through the tendon Roasted on a spit Stalked then slaughtered Dragged through forest sticks Caught from every angle None of them survive Collecting captured bodies To be devoured by the tribe
Sacrament of death confronted Becoming divine
Skin hung high to be our banners Tanning human hides
Roasted slowly skin starts boiling Sculptures made of spine
Hunting those who trespass On this holy land of mine
Riding through the night Tracking precious prey Worn from lack of sleep for now But dead before day When they're found they cower For they know they're next Sawing off their fingers kept as trophies round my neck
Sacred calling for our mauling We'll be blessed again
Sacrificed then kill by torture Fed to hordes of men
Smiling on us our gods Beg us to murder again
Heed their word and only follow For what they have saidTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
