the ritual of hatred for men without faces wounded and cursed, ignorant and blind winners of past days are now at the bottom of life like a flock of sheep led to the slaughterhouse to meet the pitiful fate being a piece of meat thousands deadmen damned by the gods with golden eyes and stone souls march on a road toward horizon leaving behind this world of the despised slavery of pride, triumph addiction dancing in shackles around fresh graves abandoned generation awaken from the lethargy walk in a fog by circles and seek the destiny everlasting peace no more than just a dream hands stained with blood will never be washed hanged men on trees and piles of skulls stand as a milestones along our way walk straight to strong arms of the death condemned to be punished by butcher's hands the last drop of blood in the ocean of grief endless and quite, where we all will drown