| Tremble! |
| For here they come to get you
|
| The priests of the foreign gods
|
| Believe — don’t say a word
|
| No questions. |
| no denial,
|
| Lay down your head on the block
|
| Naive fodder of this world — who’s its creator
|
| And how did the things become as they are
|
| Scream!
|
| You cower from the thought what would happen next
|
| By the time you will he mature enough
|
| Your blood shall be spilled
|
| In the meaningless rites
|
| The priests — the butchers
|
| Sadistic surgeons. |
| divine emissaries.
|
| Perform the rite in the eyes of the Lord
|
| Blessed be! |
| Chop off. |
| mutilate, gut and stitch it up anew
|
| Answer, obey — the life on silver platter
|
| Day of your birth, the curse has begun
|
| A promise of further disgrace
|
| Enslaved among your kin
|
| Your words mean nothing here
|
| Cut your flesh in the eyes of the Lord
|
| Bleed out. |
| die in the eyes of the Lord
|
| The rite strips you down of your dignity The offering shall be complete,
|
| come madness and death
|
| Mandatory mayhem
|
| Tears, razor-sharp tools, yet pain so dull
|
| Without anesthesia, without inhibition
|
| Beloved genitalia. |
| priests' favorite regions
|
| Lead this calf to the slaughter!
|
| Infection in the eyes of the Lord
|
| Humiliation in the eyes of the Lord
|
| Death in the eyes of the Lord
|
| You lay down your head
|
| On your mother’s knees
|
| She covers your eyes
|
| On the wooden stake you clench your teeth
|
| Awaiting
|
| And here comes the butcher…
|
| Consciousness lost out of pain
|
| It still hurts alter you’re awake
|
| No one cares, you might as well die here
|
| For the offering’s been made.
|
| A glimpse of luck — you’re saved
|
| Your wound is healed
|
| And you’re alive, yet it doesn’t matter
|
| They won’t rest until every single pleasure
|
| I las been taken away from you
|
| You have been marked from the day you were born.
|
| Legacy of prejudice
|
| It is our tradition
|
| You either adapt or you perish
|
| You are unaware piece of nothing. |