The Black Hundred Lyrics - Primordial

Here there is no god he is ground to dust 

In the death machine of industry 

The iron hearse sent on bitter tracks to the Gulag 

Suffering forged between the hammer and sickle 

The sorrow of men's hearts is a broken people 

Nations at the gallows pray for mercy killing 

Men of the cloth stand in stretch necked defiance 

Famines fist sounds the death knell 

The people's utopia moulds an industrial horizon 

Rusted Vostok in the lap of the Gods 

"I want to burn, give me the funeral pyre 

Long was life, but my life's waking short 

The highest of my father's sacraments 

To climb towards heaven on a towering flame 

And scream out the injustice by which 

My nation with fiery iron was beset and slaughtered" 

(Vizcma Belgenvica)