Sound the horns, grand is their call Blessing the triumph of the battle Nourished in blood, the pain of us all The outcry of our final rattles
Rising in power, the glory of our kings Soaked in their moral, shame and filth Sold for a penny and sold for their means We're bound to be choking on all their sins
Thus always to tyrants, inglorious ride Sic semper tyrannis, the devil and his bride
A gush of blood, settled our tales Written by hands of a monster The branches now rooted and grown on our trails Bloomed from the hurt of our fathers
Rising in power, the glory of our kings Soaked in their moral, shame and filth Sold for a penny and sold for their means We're bound to be choking on all their sins
Thus always to Tyrants, inglorious ride Sic semper Tyrannis, the devil and his bride
"They will hang from the oldest oak on morrow And a pale moon'll light the sky Their necks will crack – no one'll feel any sorrow And a crooked cross will stand there wry"
Nightfall – this will be their last nightfall Nightfall – this will be their last nightfall
Thus always to tyrants, inglorious ride Sic semper tyrannis, the devil and his bride
"They will hang from the oldest oak on morrow And a pale moon'll light the sky Their necks will crack – no one'll feel any sorrow And a crooked cross will stand there wry"
Nightfall – this will be their last nightfallTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
