Funeral, Swords And Souls کے بول

I proclaim the victim's fall Now I shudder by the sight of you Crucified by my nails You hunger by my hammer Born in pity, so raised in pity And grown to be what's weak Suffering beneath my blade As you bend your knees to the dust Voices, spirits and smoke From the pyre up by the glistering Never more was this seen In happiness and joy Memorize the ash Beyond the shell Of souls enfolded in blood Raining flat, my hands Sacramental juice from stabbed wounds Born in pity, so raised in pity And grown to be what's weak Suffering beneath my blade As you bend your knees to the dust Voices spirits and smoke From the pyre up by the glistering Never more was this seen In happiness and joy Despise it. I do The rise of mankind Seen by time, all the years that went by The rumbling of the night-thunder Witnessed the stoning