| Burnt is the landscape.
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| I stand proud and behold this.
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| Their churches have been burnt,
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| Sick and perverted desecrations have been done.
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| Their regime has ended.
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| It is time for the northern heritage to return.
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| It will create a dark and violent age
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| Where no Christian life shall be spared.
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| I find myself in a puddle of blood,
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| Knowing it was an illusion.
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| As I drop lifeless to the floor.
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| Follow my footprints of blood.
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| Leave everything behind you
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| And step into my reality.
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| Where no happiness is found.
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| Feel the wind torment your skin.
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| Feel the sun burn your skin and turn to stone.
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| Feel my razorblades tongue
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| And cut yourself deep and desirably.
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| Let the blood run in an overflowing stream
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| And submit to my suicide and yours.
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| Nothing but death in this life is certain.
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| You may be in some state of happiness
|
| But none of this will stay real.
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| You are trapped in a spider’s web.
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| You might as well just kill yourself. |