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Jagged prophets surrounded by songs that blast,
From the monster-cannons wielded by the hymen's sons,
They bulldoze your houses, kill and torture your
people,
But resolved in hatred, you are the silent ones.
The infidels have no messiah or steeple,
They dance under a star that drips with blood,
You live like dogs within your own land,
But within you has unleashed the hatred's flood,
For you alone, are the sons of these holy sands.
Spectre of vengence; nihilisimo jewicide,
The cause is just within the heart that's real,
For in these monsters your pain they cannot feel,
They kill and spare not, with their hearts of steel.
So you go to their cities, original child-bomb,
Innocence tortured to wield the final blade,
Of the torment in your lost heart that's true,
And you consume all in torrents of final flame,
And in annihilation of yourself; (and all that will
rue)
Shall you know that there was no better one than you.
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