Dying Fetus Invert The Idols
Minds seduced by scripture, masquerade as pawns
Rejecting each other, they take on many forms
Minions praising with compulsion, statues stand and stare
Holy hymns, incantations, rise into the air
High on the myths of the church
They never quite see where they are
Like God, their devil is an icon, for face-painting
frauds
A holy ghost laugh, a fetish for the weak
Satanic overlords for paranoid freaks
Always ranting and obsessing, hiding from themselves
Living out their fantasy, morbidly indulged
High on the myths of the church
They never quite see where they are
Their devil is a joke in the real world
Where death is never far
Burn all the icons, f..ck your fairytales
Cleanse your head of filth
Bred on illusion, fed on tradition pull the wool from
your eyes
