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Born in blood

War of ideas rage

Slaughter all

Racing backwards

Corrupt piety

To the son of fiction

A desert dream of death

You made a cult

Cult of the dead son

Who will kill more

Cult of the dead son

King of all false

Claim a land sacred

Stained with blood

The ground sours

Miasma ripens

Corpses rot in the sun

Like the thought of gods

How pathetic you are

To kill for dogma

Cult of the dead son

Who will kill more

Cult of the dead son

King of all false

Who will be next to die?

In the wake of your fragility

Your might amounts to nothing

A cancer waiting to devour itself

Spreading decay among despair

We stand our ground and curse your name

For no dead son will reign

For no dead son will reign

We renounce your son

Dissolve your claim

Never has truth

Demanded blind faith

We stand elevated

On smoldering embers

Your church in ashes

You made a cult

Cult of the dead son

Who will kill more

Cult of the dead son

King of all false

Cult of the dead son

Who will kill more

Cult of the dead son

King of all false