Lyrics

This church of plague has accepted us in
Reciting their scriptures from a book made of skin
Every page inked by the blood of the conquered
Corrupted by the book, they follow its words
The stench of copper with each page turned
Children look on as the heretics burn
Women all cry as the hymns are sung
Flies will feast after the body is hung

To trample the weak is a noble joke
A flesh-made temple full of broken hope
These words of cancer have infected the herd
Culling the sick, isn't easy work
The stench of decay, seeping deep and black
Unrelenting motion, whipping forth and back
Taking root, and drilling out all concepts of free will.
This master of flesh, she only eats the ill