"Blessed are those who write their own scriptures,
for they shall be kings of the new world."

Since the dawn of civilization
the so-called men of god
have been lost in their obscurities
their words lead to sorrow
commanding the weak to follow
a desing for tyrants to control and enslave

we subdue not the voices inside us
we only bow down on our prey

fire rains down from the heavens
pouring down on those too weak to learn
on the ruins of the dead religion
standing tall as the enslavin doctrines burn

"Blindly the sheep to their doom,
for their leader came not to bring peace, but a sword."

to lead the flock astray
each cult began their game
they created the face of evil and gave it a name
we take their game and squeeze it
until it brakes in shards
and under the remains the truth will survive

we are the child who questions sincerely
and in our eyes a mirror framed