Letra da Música Preaching To The Converted de Agents Of Satan

{I'm gonna spit on you, I'm gonna curse the day you were born, and I'm sure while I'm standing there I'm gonna have to have other bodily functions lettin' go upon your grave.}

The public wants what the public gets. Lazarus himself wouldn’t rise into the world of today. Decry relativity. What? Damned petulant for seeing through a Trojan horse full of zyklon, while Judas’s coffers overflow. New world (dis)order is nothing new. Choking on poison air, pouring whiskey into crescent moon laceration. Time to bite the hand that beats, teach our children well - teach them to kill. Global jyhad for a thousand years. Sanctified, our blood spills. Sutured with commodities. Iron fist in silken glove, ripping away autonomy, replacing with a placebo. A silken glove, ripping away autonomy. Realize that our wounds will never heal while Judas’s coffers overflow...