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Worm birthrate

Quick as sound waves

They writhe and pulsate

A dearth of vision

From death infection

The Blood Religion

I was born into a cult of pain

Now there are twisted cables in my brain

Soaked and foaming in my own disease

We are past the point, no destiny

We four Vultures

Performing murder

Blood down the altar

We coat our madness

Complete with malice

Unholy savages, well fuck it!

I was born into a cult of pain

Now there are twisted cables in my brain

Soaked and foaming in our own disease

We are past the point, no destiny

Found traces of violence in places so silent

A whirlwind of fury, desert me

Amazing devices in stasis, inside us

A whirlwind of fury, desert me

A whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind, a whirlwind