Wash your hands pilate, they bleed fear* From the altar of the supreme magistrate A sick old hag growling from the cage And it will be a verdict with no resentment And as the thunder breaks the silence without warning Sharpen your tongue of the blade of supremacy Wash your hands pilate, they bleed fear Because the sword for the victorious is The sick for the needy They excrete contempt And dry our fear on rage of knowledge Barabra is free and the gates where ajar Barabra is free and kingdom where rising Condemn the lamb and devour the head His heart will be the trophy In the basin of our crimes Et renuncio alterum deum Et renuncio jesum christum Et ecclesiam apostolicum In anno sanguinis sigilum We want to be burned with honour and glory because He drowns your race in the abyss of pride But speak magistrate, your word is law Barabra is free and the gates where ajar Barabra is free and kingdom where rising