| The heavens break to cover us with shattered sky,
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| Grasping ground with crooked claws, hateful serpentine,
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| I’m winter see my heart split into a million shards,
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| There is no freedom where I’m bound to the sound of your demise,
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| Spites of fire march in rows,
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| Bloody worriors, mother fury still it grows!
|
| And I die in depths of heartlessness,
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| Thor! |
| His hammer hit the ground,
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| Destruction prey and fire dine!
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| Bloody worriors churn the clouds
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| Thunder thy unearthly cry,
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| Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh,
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| In blackest misery the lifeless lie in squander,
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| Insane you sleep falling deeper into farthest fear,
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| Now your disease has worked its way through your fucking veins,
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| Infernal suffering to the Nazarene,
|
| Thy rotten soul in darkness dwell in the mouth of hell,
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| The worms are feeding on your lies within, you’re drown in sin,
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| Born from the blind, feeble mind of the greatest whore!
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| Open shrines the children of the Nile!
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| When fountains of thy blood reach heavens,
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| When you’re gone, mystic rites we’ll carry on,
|
| To explore into the shadows of thy scorn,
|
| Tranquilized, smite your foes that they may die!
|
| In the sun you’ll see the shape of things to come,
|
| When you’re gone, mystic rites we’ll carry on,
|
| To explore into the shadows of thy scorn,
|
| Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh,
|
| In blackest misery the lifeless lie in squander,
|
| Insane you sleep falling deeper into farthest fear,
|
| Now your disease has worked its way through your fucking veins,
|
| Infernal suffering to the Nazarene,
|
| Thy rotten soul in darkness dwell in the mouth of hell,
|
| The worms are feeding on your lies within, you’re drown in sin,
|
| Born from the blind, feeble mind of the greatest whore!
|
| Open shrines the children of the Nile,
|
| When fountains of thy blood reach heavens,
|
| When you’re gone, mystic rites we’ll carry on,
|
| To explore into the shadows of thy scorn,
|
| Tranquilized, smite your foes that they may die!
|
| In the sun you’ll see the shape of things to come,
|
| When you’re gone, mystic rites we’ll carry on,
|
| When fountains of thy blood reach heavens,
|
| solo: Adam the First Sinner |