Nettlethrone Preaching The Crisis Discipline
In the middle of the amaranthine garden
Bodies struggling to get hold of a throat
To catch, cut and put a stop to this madness
If only they could clutch their fingers
Tombstones do not look for a name anymore
The last words of the dead are long forgotten
These roads become our graves
And amber white lines are headstones
As harmony is built upon the dead
Bodies struggling to get hold of a throat
To catch, cut and put a stop to this madness
They know the history is written in blood
They know that these killers shall not stop
Neither flags nor frontiers have changed the meaning of death
Blood cleanse their machine brains
As they crucify each and every human being
They advance, to choose their war machines once again
Use the crossword and select your weapon
Terror, humanity, reason, famine, democracy, degradation
Shall a spark of hellfire bury the hearts bestowed