Nettlethrone Aesthetics Of A Dead Art
Martyrs lie in the graves of deceit
Scorned by hate, in pestilent defeat
Once proud puppets of hypocrisy
Spoiled bodies, laid down on their knees
Crimson dawns charged with a-bombs
Behind the walls men disguised in green
Slaughter of the innocence
For the profit of the vile
First bury a man, then a nation
Millions are expandable
Once found ethics of virtue
Lost in the faceless felony
They know, they lie, they die
In the name of god
They knew, they lied, they died
How would you pay their blood?
Warmongering for centuries
The aesthetics of a dead art
Bring it down, take what once ours
The aesthetics of a dead art
Mark our words, raise your fists
Your tyranny ends here
Harnessed men stand their ground
This is how we'll bring you down
Years of crumbling mirth
Make them a distant memory
As they stretch down the strings
Pull them down, take their wings
Martyrs lie in the graves of deceit
Scorned by hate, in pestilent defeat
Once proud puppets of hypocrisy
Spoiled bodies, laid down on their knees
Mark our words, raise your fists
Your tyranny ends here
Harnessed men stand their ground
This is how we'll bring you down
