Burnt is the landscape
I stand proud and behold this
Their churches have been burnt,
Sick and perverted desecrations have been done
Their regime has ended
It is time for the northern heritage to return
It will create a dark and violent age
Where no Christian life shall be spared
I find myself in a puddle of blood,
Knowing it was an illusion
As I drop lifeless to the floor
Follow my footprints of blood
Leave everything behind you
And step into my reality
Where no happiness is found
Feel the wind torment your skin
Feel the sun burn your skin and turn to stone
Feel my razorblades tongue
And cut yourself deep and desirably
Let the blood run in an overflowing stream
And submit to my suicide and yours
Nothing but death in this life is certain
You may be in some state of happiness
But none of this will stay real
You are trapped in a spider's we
You might as well just kill yourself