The Final March کے بول

This is the call to arms, the final call Exchanged the shuttle for the sword For generations we slaved away in the shadows of their towers The world we know, a torture-chamber Born as servants, exploited till death To their machines we're marching with Captain Ludd in mind The final march begins, down with all the kings The shroud we weave completed The air we breath is not the stench of slavery Down with the king! Down with all Kings! Winter-withered bodies, Souls sunken into misery Our minds and future as black as our masters' hearts Now we engage the enemy; the web we weave completed Cant wait for god to judge these monsters A religion that just mocks us and justifies this misery