Testo di Invert The Idols

Minds seduced by scripture, masquerade as pawns Rejecting each other, they take on many forms Minions praising with compulsion, statues stand and stare Holy hymns, incantations, rise into the air High on the myths of the church They never quite see where they are Like God, their devil is an icon, for face-painting frauds A holy ghost laugh, a fetish for the weak Satanic overlords for paranoid freaks Always ranting and obsessing, hiding from themselves Living out their fantasy, morbidly indulged High on the myths of the church They never quite see where they are Their devil is a joke in the real world Where death is never far Burn all the icons, fuck your fairytales Cleanse your head of filth Bred on illusion, fed on tradition pull the wool from your eyes