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Pull the blade, reveal the face
Hiding in shrouds from your grace

You're a fucking facade and there's no
Other feeling than hate to describe your face

What's to come is only violence, of that I'm certain
A sentiment of relieve is held by the present after

The Oracle turns its back on the past

Fear guides them into forgetting what they are
Strongly regurgitate the guts of dread

The crowd doesn't comprehend the search
We don't live accepting the outcome
The well from which their fucking blood is drained
Morphs their scorching desires out of existence

I've never seen the snow while awake
It still remains burnt from the fire
Of power that's placed behind the curtain

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