For there is no fear of God in their eyes
Nobody fears God anymore
I can smell it on their fur
Crimson still wet from the slaughter
The odor of murder hangs on their feral breath
They tarnish holy ground
With the filth they've reveled in
Fangs salivating over the souls brought to the altar
If these walls could talk
They would expose all the lies
If these walls could find a voice
What a grave hymn they would sing
Is an angel still a saint evеn after it lost its wings?
A demon, a devil, whеn they lay down their tine?
Blood cries out from tarnished gowns
Innocence soaked through the floorboards
Depraved in mind, deprived of truth
They host off the least of these
A rapacious bite, behind a snow white sheet
A wolf covered in the dressings designed for sheep
They coil up their spines
Lay waiting before their snares
Traps set with a psalm and a holy name on their lips
The same teeth that preach of peace
Sink into flesh until their victims grow weak
What they want they take
Despite of what's at stake
Blood cries out from tarnished gowns
Innocence soaked through the floorboards
Depraved in mind, deprived of truth
They host off the least of these
A rapacious bite, behind a snow white sheet
A wolf covered in the dressings designed for sheep
False prophet
False prophet
Sharp is the sickle
Den of robbers
The reaping hour is drawing nigh
Brood of vipers
Den of robbers
Brood of vipers
Den of robbers
Brood of vipers
I can smell it on their fur
Crimson still wet from the slaughter
Dressed in purity but there's blood on their hands