New ideas - old tales
Chains to hold and don’t rebel
Against the powerful and mighty illusion
You won’t see cause you don't believe
But the stairway is right here
All the gleams are sparks
Of darkness pretending they’re light

From the Impaler of death
To the fathers of lies

Creating rules for a perfect illusion
Words of sheeps dressed in black
With messianic lies
Make them come out their lairs
Make them pay for their crimes
For their lies
Burns the Pyre of Gods

Spreading disease and their odious ill
Using blood as an ancient trill
Worse than leeches feeding from the bloody goat corpse
You bow yourselves to an invisible man
Caught by the fear of a damned men
But time is running and there’s
And there’s nothing you can do about it

From the Impaler of death
To the fathers of lies

Creating rules for a perfect illusion
Words of sheeps dressed in black - with messianic lies
Make them come out their lairs
And make them pay for their crimes
For their lies
Burns the Pyre of Gods