look at the hand pointing down at you
I hear the sounds from it,
decay in the right of my ear
the sounds of life in the left
behind the echoes of death,
messages for the sin travel
through you, travel in me..

perfection is a lie assumed by
the damned, the pope does
know the time, he gives it
to the man who spreads his
wage against the jew's,

America the whore at all
feet's, fighting for entry
sleeping with all.

soon the beds will fall
and all the liars will rise
this is the hour of my
christ,

anti-culture message for
the sin, anti-christ the messenger
for each end, the ode of death will sing
last while the trumpets spread,
there will be no time, there will be no fix for
you one-euro trick's, the message for the sin
the message for the sin,

the message for the sin