Bathory's Sainthood

Do you feel alive now, now that you own the dead preying on their corpses, their hearts no longer fed your sainthood is obvios on ever starving face your deception given us a way to separate the poor from their hate, the rich from the stone genuflect away the sins that we've known sure one percent rules but heavens made of gold so chalk it up to folly and consiquences alone do we really want do we really need a bastard messiah wrapped up in the dream of patriotic cleaned white washed desire and everytime the real war's defined, the trenches are filled to hide the battle lines torches to bridges and bridges to torture headlines distort what we see as our borders and what gives us the right to feel with remorse for a god they created a god for the poor a bathory we're bleeding out the devil hides in angelic shrouds blasphemy as speaking out we've asked for it for more of the same sad scheme of ghettos created by the power elite for our minds and souls burning no longer for freedom invoked just more of the same