feed your fear with apathetic hymns sung from the mouths of bastard children
to your ears, from the lips of the forgotten sons and daughters once again
the innocent hang from crosses with tears in their eyes
while swaying in the wind as their frigid blood dries
our idea of perfection has been preached
our idea of perfection has been reached
the beauty of the beast, the wonders of hell
all held captive within the stories you sell
our idea of perfection has been breached
our idea of perfection has been stifled to ruins for unto you a special child is born
he will be ripped of his flesh and be blessed with thorns to be adorn
beautiful in the way his skin tears from his bone
how his breath ceased upon his demand
now seated at the right hand of his fathers throne
and woe to thee, so unworthy
and woe to thee, undeserving.
