The Invasion of Beliefs
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 The hated God, his hated priests,
 The human sacrifices, their human feasts,
 Killing one so that others may thrive,
 Living in fear that they will survive.

 Once, life was lived to it's full extent,
 Now it's lived for the priests to repent,
 And appeasing the 'Gods', as they may try,
 Is another product of a lie.

 Colored mists, and colored dust,
 Meaningless objects supply a must,
 To confuse the common, farming man,
 Make him give loyalty, if they can.

 The Quasi-Priest is a sacred child,
 His hair is orange and tangled and wild,
 Mumbling some worthess, holy verse,
 This foolish fassad gets progressively worse.

 He stands on the polished, blackened rock,
 Red blood, splattered on the chopping block,
 Blood from those lucky men who died,
 Lucky because they died with pride.

 We sometimes pray with others at night,
 We plead to OUR gods, to come and fight,
 To put an end to our writhing sadness,
 And crush to powder, the Altar of Madness.

 Onslaught [CHAOS] 7.20.93