the ritual of hatred for men without faces
wounded and cursed, ignorant and blind
winners of past days are now at the bottom of life
like a flock of sheep led to the slaughterhouse
to meet the pitiful fate being a piece of meat
thousands deadmen damned by the gods
with golden eyes and stone souls
march on a road toward horizon
leaving behind this world of the despised
slavery of pride, triumph addiction
dancing in shackles around fresh graves
abandoned generation awaken from the lethargy
walk in a fog by circles and seek the destiny
everlasting peace no more than just a dream
hands stained with blood will never be washed
hanged men on trees and piles of skulls
stand as a milestones along our way
walk straight to strong arms of the death
condemned to be punished by butcher's hands
the last drop of blood in the ocean of grief
endless and quite, where we all will drown