Degraded lapdogs
Slaves of the slaves
Meek in their dungeons wit for their fate
Faith is their armour
Hope is their pride
Charity wielded
Will is denied

Alive and rotting
Triumph of worms
Theirs is the power
Theirs are the storms
Thousands of bodies still in the dark
Embraced by foul stench
Shunned by the light
Standing on corpses
Standing on shards
Invoking more pain
Weaving the shroud

Vengeance comes
Hope's annihilation
Scorching
Illusions destruction

The gate is open
Hope is the chain
Out there's no master
No evil to blame
Flocks stick together
Bow to the cross
Subdued worshippers of power and force

Virtues erased with revulsion
Deceiving saviour's abortion