Blood On Their Hands

One time, the last rendition, too long I've sacrificed
Dead stones in walls of freedom, built high with filth and vice

So blind you walk into their chapels, morality enthroned
What price this God of mass invention extracts to make you whole?

Your crimes defy your wisdom, no faith can set you free
Unleashed through vile maxims, your doctrines bleed deceit

Mental crucifixion, what flesh can serve your needs?
Unchained, I crawl to exit your shrine of rotting dreams