Poor Devil Songtext
von Ilsa

Desecration records negative peace
J-O-C replaced negative mind
Trapped disciple, the head, the bottom
Poor devil never dies coming

Putridness played its role
Thirty pieces to his soul
The earth would not cover his body
The sea would not swallow his corpse
No steel could cut him
His flame could not consume


Blew hanging fruit of a poisoned tree
Judas hung himself, Judas hung himself
Laughing in the field of grain
Jesus called and pushed him off the shelf
Made his birth rot in foul, he swayed

If Judas′s betrayal was predestined
The story's end, pure cruelty manifested
Manipulated into his deception
The hero to blame, the root with no redemption

Judas hung himself, Judas hung himself
In the old potter′s field, blood drained
From an oily branch extrangled as it danced
Made his birth rot in foul, he swayed
Made his birth rot in foul, he swayed
Judas hung himself, Judas hung himself
In the potter's field, his body stained
Green rainworms rose from the rotten soil
Into his head chucked the rain they rained