Unworthy to die as your own prophet
Disdain the mimic of a false god's d**h
The wood is planted
Firmly in the ground
The feet turned to the sun
Your head pointed to hell
Your sky's now a desolated
Land
You will stretch out your hands
And another will dress you
And take you where you do not want to go
Let him bleed
On the inverted cross
Won't be a loss
"Cum esses lunior. cingebas te et ambulabas ubi volebas. Cum autem senuens extendes man*s tuas et alus te cinget et ducet quo tu non vjs"
You will stretch out your hands
And embrace your useless d**h
A pool of your own blood
Will crown your head
Let him profusely bleed
Let him ingloriously bleed
Let him f*cking bleed
Let him f*cking bleed