Grass doesn't grow on damned ruins,
Ruins of temples of the cross.
They stand alone dark and brooding.
Listen to their silent voice.

Bow to the dead,
Rotten god,
Taste his flesh,
Drink his blood!

The cult of gold and blood!
They hailed the crucified god!
The cult of death and graves!
The sect of masters and slaves!

Here the black priests celebrated
Their masses, smoked incense.
And the zombies bowed and prayed,
And the corpses smiled in graves.

Bow to the dead,
Rotten god,
Taste his flesh,
Drink his blood!

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