Lyrics Profane - Svart Crown

Profane

These paragons of pure love
Of sacrificial eucharistia
Who devors mouth wide open
Their deviant instinct
Believers, believers
Harmful cockroaches
Gravediggers, who delight
To feast world’s illness
Birds of ill omen
Vultures angels
Still wearing their clothes
Of slayer
Get their hands dirty for the soul’s salvation
They sprinkle this smell of mass graves
As they sprinkle holy water
In the name of truth
God is angry
And the Devil doesn’t think less
Impious
Unholy
I am, the deep source who soil and rape
Spitting on all you bless and you think I am
The metastasis ready to deliver
Praise and profane
Praise and profane