Degraded lapdogs Slaves of the slaves Meek in their dungeons wit for their fate Faith is their armour Hope is their pride Charity wielded Will is denied Alive and rotting Triumph of worms Theirs is the power Theirs are the storms Thousands of bodies still in the dark Embraced by foul stench Shunned by the light Standing on corpses Standing on shards Invoking more pain Weaving the shroud Vengeance comes Hope's annihilation Scorching Illusions destruction The gate is open Hope is the chain Out there's no master No evil to blame Flocks stick together Bow to the cross Subdued worshippers of power and force Virtues erased with revulsion Deceiving saviour's abortion