Borders swell like the oceans
 Nations swept away
 In the steel rain
 Wounds carved in the earth
 The silent hands of genocide
 Map the years
 Forgotten legacies of dust
 People remembered in nothing
 But fragments of language
 Verses of song
 And shards of [bad word]  The gallows cold hands
 Tighten old rope
 Young men hang in the fetid breeze
 Like rotten [bad word]  Too ripe for harvest
 They have marched us
 Through the streets
 Heralded our death
 Proclaimed our end
 And brought us to our knees

 host of the willing few
 Is gathered at the Traitors Gates
 Demanding their pound of flesh
 And their weight in gold

 The tyrant
 Resurrected as King
 Who's Midas touch an Iron Fist
 All the world proclaiming
 Yesterday's man as Traitor
 Yet [bad word] with open arms
 His brother as tomorrows Dictator