Gods To The Godless - 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 nought 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 imbed it deep

within the subconscious of generations…»