Woorden: Funeral. From These Wounds. Red Moon.

The aeons, by they go
They will never let you know
Shining down on fields of doom
Tribulation casts a blood-red moon
Immortality in death
How I long for my last breath
Covering the lands, a blinding fog
Keeps them ignorant of their holy dog
When you hear the cries
Of the ones that should have died
You find safety in the void
In rational illusions truth you avoid
And I thank you for the mass
The word of God is coming out of your ass
They are guarding all the gates
Hell made real through prayers and faith
Goddess of dignity
Shamelessly she pisses on me
Forcing upon me her will
Her stinking leprosy makes me ill
My surrender will seal your lies
Bring me up to your hell above the skies
We died not for your souls
We died not for your selfish goals
When I hear you speak his voice
I understand that I never had a choice

[Lyrics by F. Forsmo]