The Puritan's Hand Lyrics - Primordial

There is plague at the door 

It begs to be among us 

In the ashen dreams of crippled children 

There is sickness in the soil 

Nothing grows this side of Eden 

Nor in the yearning abyss 

That is all men's hearts 

Nor in the skeletal tug 

Of motherhood that curses all with life 

There is disease upon the air 

It grasps at the throat of virtue 

Rosary twist in leather hands 

And offer prayer for me 

And I have fought the god of men 

For my whole life 

Yet now we sit at the table together 

Breaking bread and drinking blood wine 

We spent the smallest hours 

Staring into the void 

Between sleep and dreams 

That stretch from the womb to the grave 

So feel the puritan's dead hand as it throttles all life 

So clasp your hands and bend your broken knees 

For no one else will, and your confessions 

Of worthless guilt, are not your saving grace 

And so you seek redemption at the puritan's hand 

Is the hell you find here not enough for you? 

To find your redemption