Republic of Heaven - Fall Of Efrafa

We wane in remembrance

Drained by our scorn

The flocks of the patriarch throttled

Forlorn

We gasp with epiphany

Perception unmasked

Ranks of black muslin litter out path

Empyrian empties

On our woeful malaise

Engulfs and entwines our impious parade

These are the embers

The fetid ideal

The end of our chastity

Allow us to feel

Nerves remain tender

To touch makes us cry

We see through these windows now become eyes

Our burden is heavy

As we ascend

Like blemished flesh

The earth seems to rent

Pustules of faces

Mouths like crevasse

Our weathered coherence lost to morass

Our debts are paid to this epoch

Sanctimonious

No remorse

The king is dead!

The king is dead!

We bound his face!

Cut off his head!

We spit at thee

We curse at thee

The king is dead!

Brothers and sisters

The king is dead!

Cut him down

Flay his skin

Our god is dead!

Courtisans!

Compatriots!

Lend me your ears

We slayed this demagogue

Dragged it to its knees

We cut all the sycophants

Deafened their call

We gave back the willing to better us all

We will not go quiet

We will not be restrained

We will not be slaves to an impotent regieme

Mark this in remembrance

The turning of tides

Our nascent republic

Born of (his) demise

The nativity!

Our elegy!

To this reform!