The Seed of Tyrants - Primordial

These are the traitors you called out

One by one against the wall

You wanted the President’s dead

And the wrists of the state bound

In the books of the dead

The myths of martyrs

You created in the revolution

Ring deep and hollow

Now what will you do?

When the barren earth

That bears your scar

Demands the seed of tyrants

And not the reason of the mob

Where there should be rage

There is weeping and silent conformity

Where cities should burn

There is defeat so raise this pyre to infamy

Where are the hands that hewed our future from rubble

Not every statue to the great was conceit

If the church had one neck

I would wring it

If the state had one artery

I would sever it

Torches to the parliament of swine

And iron to the rights of fools