Tyrannicide - Death Of An Era

Life is no game of chess

We are not your pawns

So fight your own wars

Your soldiers are revolting

We are revolting

You’ve sent countless men onto your battlefields, to keep your hands clean

All under the guise that they will make their countries proud, but die for

nothing

Now listen, in the streets, there is a battle cry, we’re coming for your head

Our retribution is at hand, and we’re taking our pound of flesh

From time to time, the tree of liberty must be refreshed

With the blood of patriots and tyrants

Now the time has come for your blood to spill

The thundering sound of your head landing in the dirt

Will resonate in the ear of every patriot

You can run and you can hide

But your death is just a matter of time

Hell opens

To welcome you as its prize.

This is tyrannicide.

From time to time, the tree of liberty must be refreshed

With the blood of patriots and tyrants