The Branch Of Cool Progeny

The Nomad

Kingdom of the dead is a torture tool
for the picked fruit of wisdom.
Cemetery of antichrists is waiting obediently
For the call of its henchmen's names
Open earth rewards with its warm the ones who are keeping its infinity.
Volcanoes of power present bodies of the ones who are able to face themselves.
Disprove me, disprove with me
Hungry mounds of minds torture the bound instincts of independence.
Fear hasn't been rewarded by socially spiritualised law.
Blessings will never become real
To the devoted worshipers of the cross.
Designate me, designate with me
Throw with me away, throw me away
An experience demands strong deliberation with the narcotic of christian wisdom to still stand the life in their sick, imaginated world.
Only degradation amongst own race lets hover in illusions of the holiest humility.
The heirs of own identity must close themselves deep inside their souls and darkness
To be still of sound mind.
The offspring of chaos can dance
On the naked stupidity and ignorance of its holy oppressors.
Roused from the penance we're marching outside insanity,
Waiting for the kingdom of antichrists to come.I'm the bell you bang
I'm the army you bless