Profane - Svart Crown

These paragons of pure love

Of sacrificial eucharistia

Who devors mouth wide open

Their deviant instinct

Believers, believers

Harmful cockroaches

Gravediggers, who delight

To feast world’s illness

Birds of ill omen

Vultures angels

Still wearing their clothes

Of slayer

Get their hands dirty for the soul’s salvation

They sprinkle this smell of mass graves

As they sprinkle holy water

In the name of truth

God is angry

And the Devil doesn’t think less

Impious

Unholy

I am, the deep source who soil and rape

Spitting on all you bless and you think I am

The metastasis ready to deliver

Praise and profane

Praise and profane