| And we did pray for the rising tide
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| To swallow our daughters and sons
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| For the rotten to spread out their seed
|
| While we built this kingdom
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| And crowned our kings
|
| And we did pray for dystopia, searing the flesh of the earth
|
| Under the flag of brightening word and ideal
|
| Creation’s crowning glory, standing strong and proud
|
| It may be blind but blessed
|
| In itself dead but living
|
| And we are indeed dead but breathing
|
| And we are indeed without eyes
|
| Abound of desire we’re stumbling ahead
|
| To the pulse of malignant intent
|
| In glorious unconsciousness
|
| Feverishly sweeping towards the sole mountain
|
| And we are indeed dead but breathing
|
| And we did come to harvest the ashes
|
| To claim what we saw, what is rightfully ours
|
| To defile, to rebuild, to beguile, to be spilled and
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| Exiled, for at least our betrayal’s worthwhile
|
| And we did come to praise the forsaken
|
| To hallow our truth, to defy death itself
|
| To oppress, to resort, to confess, to distort
|
| To obsess what remains, four our reign has come forth
|
| And we did come to harvest the ashes
|
| And we did come to claim what is rightfully ours
|
| And we did come to defile the temple
|
| For our reign is resort
|
| And we did come to praise the forsaken
|
| And we did come to hallow our truth
|
| And we did come to obsess what remains
|
| For our reign has come forth |