- cifra
I am the womb and the grave
You must bow to the stone you were made of
For you have offended your God
Your end is the only cure
Enough with the fume
May the winds wash it all
My tears made a flood
And it's rising at your door
I provided you with the gold
And you smashed it all to the ground
I can hear the screams while you drown
Under this bed of rock you belong
Rot in your filth
Underground you shall dwell
Who needs a life when this life is a plague?
Welcome the mighty blow
Behold the miracle cleanse
A king will return
And that king is a stone
