We are in deep water now Our rotten bond is a sickness of soul How we loathe and envy All murderers in equal measure
What pale God is this Whose robes you wear What iconoclasm upon the Wings of pestilence Has swept the halls of the pious And dulled your blade As you prepare for death
When he had spoken Stretch out your arms Embrace the flame of fire He was consumed and arose You will have this world Whether you will it or not In hell's cold light we will sit And judge them all
If there is a reward for this When shall it come? When shall the trumpet sound Ominous and deep To the ends of the earth
