I bow down your precious icon, deity of self suppression,
In submission to this false idol, seeking deliverance,
This effigy of flesh, corporeal christi, nailed,
From this spiritual hierarchy, downward spiralling, a corrupt throne,
Of repression and guilt.
Out will be done,
On my knees, before this tormented flesh, in irreverence,
Thy kingdom burn,
This imperious creed bears testament to the failures of our mortality,
In communion with this parasitic host of virtuous divinity,
In stations of the lost.
Righteous durance is our cross we bear in stations,
Thy kingdom burn thy kingdom burn,
Our will be done,
Our will be done.
The earth shall inherit the meek,
From your knees arise,
By your own hand, your god you scribe,
Your god is dead.
(Lead - Amott)
Bound down, in God wešre frussed, foul stature,
Shadows of eternal strife cast by those who serve,
Icons embodied in flesh, we nail,
Serve a crown of pawns.
In servitude to deities fashioned in our self image,
(Lead - Steer
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