A Scatterbrain Sings of Christians and the Ghoul Bares Teeth

Onwards here; there's mud to feed And how many paving-stones? Times will tell when Samael is near And how many monikers more? And curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea, All you Christian thieves. The fury of our songs is quenched And how many broken chords? What I despise has seeped through And how many settlements more? And curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea, Onwards here if you believe. And some of us would say There is no hope. Steer the rudder of the blindfolded. A Wandering Jew who taunted me And how many teasers more? The world too grand to feel free And how many inner wars? Curse the dead ones, scattered in the sea, Onwards here if you believe. And some of us would say There is no hope. Steer the rudder of the blindfolded.