Martyrs, Blasphemizers And The Sick

Fruits of thy collective madness
Murderous legends and passions without reason
Inferior beings
That before thy ignorance
Adore a god
That giveth thee the strength to survive
Living in a full material plane
That every day weareth the way
Thy ignorance maketh blood to flow
Children of the Flesh
Swine! what fault was it of mine
That in no god I did believe
Consecrated temples
Loaded down with gold
Open the doors for the world
Show thy hidden library
Prove that god does not exist
And that everything is a farce
Blaze a trail within thy brains
Draw learning from within thyselves
Come to know the Astral Plane
Come to know there is no god
Starving Scabs!
Rot in the hell created by thy souls
‘cause catch me thou shall not
I’m outside
I’m out of thy reach
Thy faith is thy prison and defeat
I, from here, will put and end
To the foulness of religion
Swine!