Palais Ov The Craven One

Filthy coward Inebriated by the power Drunk on blood, subjects devoured Petty tyrant furrowed into desperation, fear inspired Consecrated to the power of the godless Amputated from the head, ratking conquest Hidden from the sight of savages and liars Throne of pestilence, innovate, retire The soil and the blood, amount to nothing in the end Razed to salted earth, end the people's oppression The soil and the call, hopeless agony defend All you ever saw, rent by the indifferent hand of death Filth Squalor Gods Men Filth Pallor Wealth Nothing in the end Remembered for nothing but vapidity and hate Remembered as fools, as less than their bones in a desolate grave They bundle together, to cut down the tree Their blood will be used as fertilizer And spawn life where only death they spread in their own Through death the fascist has utility And death their greatest goal The highest achievement Their gods mere men Their wealth amounts to squalor Their fetid leprous flesh Meant nothing in the end