The Penance of the Crow Songtext
von Worship the Pestilence

In no time, you′ll have no courage
Time will cease implosions
Your existence will have no cure
The world will be erased.

There's no pain, the masters will return
To erase the trace of your inability
You were always a genetic mistake
A perfect body, with the soul malformed

His eyes are glaring blood red
And don′t expect the future to hold

Because the tired look narrows
And oblivion fills the universe


Your eyelids will be ripped
For what you'd never seen
Your flesh will be food
For the soil you desecrated
Your soul will be fume
For the air you defiled
The masters
Will violate your image

You will see it fly
Without taking off the shine
They don't question the patient
There is no pain in the silence

Your eyelids will be ripped
For what you′d never seen
Your flesh will be food
For the soil you desecrated
Your soul will be fume
For the air you defiled