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Nailed to the cross while the weak
Overcome with grief weep and mourn
To pervert the mind of the following sheep sould
You scourge was born
As a shepherd of the inferior rats
You knew what to do
But spears and steel of your opponents
Could hurt your body too
As the torncrowned jester you enchanted the scum without skill
And now the strong ones move in for the kill
Smashing your face
Crushing your race
Christraping black metal to Satan gives praise
Breaking your bones
Scorning your moans
Your powers is ceasing with a parting groan
HATA BİLDİR
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