Proclama

I'll see you creeping, crying and imploring
Without any hope of salvation
And the great tempest is falling down on you, more pitiless
This cycle of history is slowly dying
With pride, we'll give it the finishing stroke
We'll enforce your Lex Talionis
We'll burn your bodies with your books of lies
You'll pay for two thousand years of sorrow and frustration
We'll lacerate the other cheek that you'll not offer us
We'll cut your flesh deeper
Because you'll not forgive us
Sorrow we'll be your only one lord
And you will not have any other but him
When the tempest will fall on you
No time for prayers
What you have buried in ages of no remembrance
Now will close your mouth eternally
As in our natureWe don't use mercy
We don't descend from the god
Son of the weak man