| Out amongst the nothing, a retreat
|
| The air is dead and stale, the mist it creeps
|
| A filthy, stinking child in rags await
|
| How where you to know she was the bait
|
| You’re gonna die!
|
| You stop to help the wretched little thing
|
| When more emerges with stick and rocks and painful offerings
|
| You’re beaten, whipped and forced to your demise
|
| Your death is witnessed by a band of cruel and vicious eyes
|
| Children of the filth
|
| Born to rot, raised in ruin
|
| Delighting in their kills
|
| And they are not alone
|
| Your loved ones come to find
|
| When they go looking for you
|
| And then they’ll loose their minds
|
| In a rancid cave where lies the grotesquerie bizarre
|
| With live ones behind bars
|
| Cocks and breasts and faces torn are strewn across the ground
|
| While inbred naked freaks
|
| Consume with animalistic chewing sounds
|
| Lead: Cutler
|
| One by one your «saviors» are consumed
|
| Their brains defiled, their bones made into weapons foul and true
|
| There’s sick rejoicing for the twisted beasts
|
| A severed head stares onward while excrements are released
|
| Children of the filth
|
| Born to rot, raised in ruin
|
| Delighting in their kills |