"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 thier obscurities

Their words would lead to sorrow

Commanding the weak to follow

A design for tyrants to control and enslave



We subdue not the voice 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 enslaving doctrines burn



"Blindly the sheep walk 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 breaks in shards

And under the remains the truth will survive



We are the child who questions sincerely

And in our eyes a mirror framed