| Propaganda death ensemble, burial to be
|
| Corpses rotting through the night, in blood-laced misery
|
| Scorched earth, the policy, the reason for the siege
|
| The pendulum, it shaves the blade, the strafing air blood raid
|
| Infiltration push reserves, encircle the front lines
|
| Supreme art of strategy, playing on the minds
|
| Bombard 'till submission, take all to their graves
|
| Indication of triumph: the numbers that are dead
|
| Sport the war
|
| War support
|
| The sport is war, total war
|
| When victory’s really massacre
|
| The final swing is not a drill
|
| It’s how many people I can kill
|
| Sport the war
|
| War support
|
| The sport is war, total war
|
| When victory’s really survival
|
| The final swing is not a drill
|
| It’s how many people I can kill
|
| Be dead, be from above
|
| When darkness falls
|
| Descend onto my sights
|
| Your fallen walls
|
| Spearhead break through the lines
|
| Flanked all around
|
| Soldiers of attrition
|
| Forward their ground
|
| Regime prophetic age
|
| Old in its time
|
| Flowing veins run on through
|
| Deep in the Rhine
|
| Center of the web
|
| All battles scored
|
| What is our war crimes
|
| Era forever more
|
| War
|
| Propaganda war ensemble, burial to be
|
| Bones, shining by the night, in blood-laced misery
|
| Campaign of elimination, twisted psychology
|
| When victory is to survive, and death is defeat
|
| Sport the war
|
| War support
|
| The sport is war, total war
|
| When the end is a slaughter
|
| The final swing is not a drill
|
| It’s how many people I can kill |