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Unworthy to die as your own prophet
Disdain the mimic of a false god's death
The wood is planted
Firmly in the ground
The feet turned to the sun
Your head pointed to hell
Your sky's now a desolated
You will stretch out your hands
And another will dress you
And take you where you do not want to go
Let him bleed
On the inverted cross
Won't be a loss
Cum
those
I am bound
you were girding
the
et
you were walking
ubi
you wanted
Cum
However
senuens
extendes
manus
your
et
good
the
surround
et
will lead
quo
tu
non
vjs
You will stretch out your hands
And embrace your useless death
A pool of your own blood
Will crown your head
Let him profusely bleed
Let him ingloriously bleed
Let him fucking bleed
Let him fucking bleed