A sacrifice unto the circle of life Impaired in every way, cast down into the dust Who am I but a sculpture made of flesh With seven sins to call my own
My love is poisoned It tears apart It turns into resentment Within your heart
A scarecrown built on fear and greed Affixed upon a cross to become a tool Who am I but an icon drenched in piss A mannequin upon a throne
My love is tainted Dilute and drained Its skin is worn by hatred Into your soul ingrained
It is a shame that my temple is built on Oppression, slavery and exploitation
Every spire that holds my emblem Rises higher than the rest Who am I but the philosopher Whose works you never read
My love is stolen Perverted and untrue It wears a mask of goodness To hide the hangman's smile
It is a shame that my temple is built on Bloodshed, warfare and mass destructionTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
