At harvest time the reaper lies dead amidst the sheaves
His scythe lies beside him
The smoky skies darken
Everywhere are the fires and the mass graves growing
And the knell, knell, knell
Countless knelling on the split church bell
By a man of faith who worships water and wine
And turns the dying away from his cold stonework shrine
He prays to the god of their torments
Whilе in the muddy street the peoplе die unshriven

Watch them scourge themselves
And carry the cross of their oppressor
Two twisted branches stripped, bound
Tied rough together by leprous hands
The parade of degenerates sprinkle their blood
It splashes the face of a filthy child
Wild eyes watching from beside a thatched-roof cottage
Sleeping mother decompose inside
On a straw bed rank with soil
The flies give praise

Pass the time, pass the town
Pass the bloody vomit down
Bury the dead, burn the living
Run away screaming
God of torment raping, feeling
The skeletons of thousands contorted
By the throes of anguish
By the All-Merciful aborted

Procession of demons stripped of dignity and pride
Offering of hope in the icon of bleeding vanity
Torn and bloody and seeping into the ground
Like the seeping of bodies rotting
Those that forgot to be forgotten

Moving on, a serpent slithers
A grotesque menagerie of grovelling sinners
That beat themselves bloody and sip their torment
To the next stinking pyre
To the next sobbing choir
Lazy eye rolls in trance
Drown in blood, Death and dance
Stone rolled away from Paschal tomb
Madman possessed, roll in gloom

God on High breathe in fumes
While below the Brethren salivate
Creep from dawn until the pyres
Twist the shadows and their cross into a shambling nightmare