| Ripe with the sickness
|
| Vanity and Hell
|
| Pointing claws in arrogance
|
| Riot rising — Contemplation ends
|
| Cast your eyes into the burning skies
|
| Can you hear the funeral bells?
|
| As you plough on towards Hell
|
| Excommunicating everything in sight
|
| In sickness and in Hell we stand
|
| Beast of Bourbon — The Devil’s hand
|
| You have a dawn appointment with the gallows
|
| «When you f*cked with us… An Army was born…»
|
| Ice cold — Riot stare
|
| Horns locked
|
| And metal to the bone I swear
|
| I don’t want you here
|
| You don’t mean shit to me, No
|
| I bite the hand that feeds me
|
| Hah, I can’t take it no more
|
| I’m going straight to the core
|
| Cry… Havoc
|
| It’s foaming at my mouth
|
| Better run for your life
|
| No more warnings, no more signs
|
| Scream for retribution
|
| This time I’m first in line
|
| In sickness and in Hell
|
| Primus — Denominator
|
| Spitting bolts in tongues of fire
|
| Enforcer — Eradicator
|
| 'Come drag you to the funeral pyre
|
| It’s quite a sight, we’ve come full circle
|
| You have to kill me now to shut me now
|
| Inflictor — Annihilator
|
| You better check your pulse
|
| You might be dead I the ground
|
| Objective — Damnation
|
| Objective — Dead ahead
|
| Drunk on blood I smell your fear
|
| The Blood-froth's in my veins
|
| In sickness and in Hell |