Centuries have risen you up crucified,
Oh kindred you blessed pain.
I sang the glory of the saint myrrh
poured by a vile killer.
To you, oh kindred, cause you die cheerfully,
and death is only a honor,
fiddles don't let you mature for life,
for a servant's tribute.
Our fate is to die with a roar
Haughtily scarily 'round the mountains,
To sing, to loudly crucify
Over the stones, chaos and pines:
For life shall be an honor to servants,
And above the cheerful rotten world
Whipping yourself to death as a tribute,
Like a flag bloody and holy.
Flag worthy of rebellion and killers.
Oh kindred, you are their chosen one.
Should you bow down before life with a humbly face
I will not be your son anymore.
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