Baptism

Dust of the decades have still not covered the pain
we rise again, following the primitive darkness
our minds pure, our weapons glistering in the midnights moonlight
in the night where a jewish soul is worthless
Sour weak souls tremble before the majesty of death
we look over all that filth and falseness
knowing that the keys of Knowledge and Power are in the hand of Satan
our Master, whose wisdom we follow in this path of hate
Under the flames the honour of pagan times is rising again
fragments of the David's star are shattered on the collapsed ruins
triangle of Jehovah turns, its eye weeping blood