by Nick Gisburne
We shape a song of blood, of death, of pain
To raise a crooked army from the grave
A swarm, a legion, soldiers, slaves, the slain
Advances to the city, wave on wave
How safe inside their dreams the guilty sleep
But every bone will break as brittle sticks
Let those who fight us die, while those who weep
Find torment on a flaming crucifix
The empire of the dead will be restored
For this we call each heart, each voice, to sing
No justice is more savage than the sword
Tonight we cut a kingdom from a king
An anthem of damnation splits the sky
And all who hear its decadence will die
