Текст песни Thornsectide - Кнут

Weaving words into a whip
To whip. Again and again.
To punish all of us for fornication.
But we do not know anything else ...

Is the thief guilty for wanting to eat?
Is the killer to blame for the desire for revenge?
Is the weight of sinful thoughts heavy?
How many lashes is their redemption worth?

Chorus:
I see the whip, but I can't see the hand.
That keeps him trembling.
There is no executioner. But someone's steps
They make me run. In fear of running.

I hear the whip, but I don't see who
She punishes, reveling in torment.
The rod is the crown, the crown of everything,
What we lovingly call Learning.

The moral of the miserable masses is a metal rod.
To break the bone of dissent
Because they will die young.
Because there is no more power over them.

Is the wanderer to blame for not home?
And suicide - by making your choice?
"Guilty! Everyone!" Pathetic answer ...
The whip replaced my heart with a lump.