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Plague-ridden Old World to which we've isolated; recluse life for Our Lord's acceptance

Superior Order written to benefit the whole, and so our leaders coded within

Divided through most extreme tradition, cycles of sorrow remain unspoken

And buried inside of us all are horrors that stagger and persist

They still don't know...

Soiled undergarments beset my sister, dark and alone in her room

Crimson adorns her bedsheets along the rigid frame

Young and old all about town bear unspeakable nightmares

Nobody is here to step forward; there is no villain to come forth and confess

Forgotten any true authority, so we act on our own

I don't want to forgive. I want to taste the sin

Lynch the wretched

Poison their fields

Just make it so

Bring the bastards forth, willing or not