| A thousand heads cut clean across their necks
|
| Right down the hall from me
|
| The reich’s relentless blade, thirsty and shining red
|
| Still echoes of their screams
|
| This is a tarnished heirloom
|
| Passed down through iron fists
|
| A shameful house of doom, a legacy of collapse
|
| Built on a painful truth
|
| A thousand years of failure
|
| A thousand years they bled
|
| To the bear, the blitzkrieg, and the holy father
|
| They just bowed their heads
|
| They meekly did their time
|
| Counting the days
|
| While harnessed to their rusty shackles
|
| Forever occupied, folded the crimson star
|
| The rabbits turned to jackals
|
| (Still echoes of their screams)
|
| Still echoes of their screams
|
| This is a tarnished heirloom
|
| Passed down through iron fists
|
| A shameful house of doom, a legacy of collapse
|
| Built on a painful truth
|
| A thousand years of failure
|
| A thousand years they bled
|
| To the bear, the blitzkrieg, and the holy father
|
| They just bowed their heads
|
| Soviet hangover, eastern bloc
|
| And dirty money still flows through locks
|
| A killing ground of rebels, black marketeers
|
| Restrained, but there’s no resistance here
|
| South-east Asia in a Euro cell block
|
| Saigon’s children conceal what they’ve got
|
| The opium trail runs west through here
|
| They’re selling disease to erase all your fears
|
| (Still echoes of their screams)
|
| Still echoes of their screams
|
| A thousand years of failure
|
| A thousand years they bled
|
| To the bear, the blitzkrieg, and the holy father
|
| They just bowed their heads
|
| I won’t bow my head
|
| (Still echoes of their screams)
|
| I won’t bow my head |