He holds court for the loyal subjects
Who pay taxes just to work the land
By his side slaves serve in soul
Like he had a crown of thorns upon his head
And still they read with sorrow
Mother earth she yields no bread
And still the king he remains well fed
Winds blow and he speaks of thunder
He rules on high with an iron fist
He takes the fruit from the virgin's hand
And he steals the innocence from her lips
And still they read with sorrow
Mother earth she yields no bread
And still the king he remains well fed
Winds blow and he speaks of thunder
He rules on high with an iron fist
He takes the fruit from the virgins hand
And he steals the innocence from her lips
All below gonna feel his wrath
None above or so he says
And all the while the serpent coils around him
Because he's the king of the dead
And still they read with sorrow
Mother earth she yields no bread
And still the king he remains well fed
Winds blow and he speaks of thunder
He rules on high with an iron fist
He takes the fruit from the virgin's hand
And he steals the innocence from her lips