Death Yells In Triumph

This soil is fed by the blood of all feeble,
These walls are built by the
milk white skulls of zealots,
Damned is the light of the virtuous ones
Poisoned is the light that radiates in here

I'm choking by this
nobility and kindness,
I'm twisting in despair
by this vile morality
Provide us with some truth
to crush the putrid tentacles
Of holiness

It's the coldness and bitter wrath
that are freezing our blood
These blood drencing leeches
Always breed and procreate
Like the larvae that fed on the
anointed carcass of their father

Our cross is decorated by their limbs
A glorious monument, a tragic fall
Of a laughable, twisted doctrine
I am intoxicated by the
liquids of their bodies,
As I yell and pierce the
eardrums of the bastard
Serpahic leeches