The Sky Burns by Cryfemal Lyrics
Abre los ojos bastardo, hijo del dios cristiano
Clavado en esa cruz, deberas pagar por tus pecados
Donde esta ahora tu falso padre?
El no puede salvarte de tu cruel destino
Ahora soy yo, el que rija los momentos finales
De tu miserable, vida...siiii!!!
Weak and unfortunate character called Christ
Assume that your life has been nothing else that a breat lie
We are here now to torture you
And turn your terrible pain into our joy
I impose this crown on you to appoint you
As weak god!!
Tu cruz se convertira en un simbolo de martirio
Para que tus seguidores vean, lo que les espera
Tu, solo has sido, el primero borrego en caer!!
Todos debeis desparecer, de la faz de la madre tierra
Bastardos inquisidores de una falsa religion
Os quiero ver sangrar, y sufrir hasta morir!!
Fields will be full of execution crosses
In which you'll slowly die without piety
It doesn't mind if you'll implore pardon
Because we won't feel any compassion for you
And your smouts will be music to our ears!!
In your dying bodies
We'll thrust our knives, to make you incisions
To put into them our hands, and to poke around your dirty entrails
Making your torment, to be the most cruel
That human mind, would haver ever imagined!!
Clavado en esa cruz, deberas pagar por tus pecados
Donde esta ahora tu falso padre?
El no puede salvarte de tu cruel destino
Ahora soy yo, el que rija los momentos finales
De tu miserable, vida...siiii!!!
Weak and unfortunate character called Christ
Assume that your life has been nothing else that a breat lie
We are here now to torture you
And turn your terrible pain into our joy
I impose this crown on you to appoint you
As weak god!!
Tu cruz se convertira en un simbolo de martirio
Para que tus seguidores vean, lo que les espera
Tu, solo has sido, el primero borrego en caer!!
Todos debeis desparecer, de la faz de la madre tierra
Bastardos inquisidores de una falsa religion
Os quiero ver sangrar, y sufrir hasta morir!!
Fields will be full of execution crosses
In which you'll slowly die without piety
It doesn't mind if you'll implore pardon
Because we won't feel any compassion for you
And your smouts will be music to our ears!!
In your dying bodies
We'll thrust our knives, to make you incisions
To put into them our hands, and to poke around your dirty entrails
Making your torment, to be the most cruel
That human mind, would haver ever imagined!!