Gods To The Godless Lyrics - Primordial

I have one desire let it be, a pestilence upon your lands 

A plague upon all your houses, it is my wish 

To enslave all your people, the soil enriched with their blood 

To burn your places of worship our Gods shall become your Gods 

All that lives on the vine is rotten, may your wines be foul 

And your bread as the flesh of the dead 

An ill wind to bring, bought but decay 

And the stench of your slaughtered kin 

The newborn, borne with fear in their eyes 

And slavery in their limbs as tools to build a new empire 

We are your cross to bear, perhaps you shall be a martyred people 

But as sure as the night follows the day, a dead people 

The desire to sweep away what is sacred and profane 

To enforce and embrace tragedy, to embed it deep 

Within the subconscious of generations