My tied up hand in the old rosary turns red and blue
Swollen from the narrow beads, who am I praying to?
My hurting knees are bleeding, barely helping me to stand
Begging for my soul to be saved, when it's time to go

But who the hell even knows where we go
when our last breath turns cold as snow
Is there a truth behind the clerus' tottering words?
My fingers are breaking in my prayer help

Is liberty to blindly follow holy men?
Is liberty to bow down to a raging god?
Devouring all my free will although his promise to give me that?
Alone and trembling in God's cold house
I See you, dead impostor!

As my thoughts consolidate
You've been the sickness of my mind
The truth enables me to become enlightened
And to reveal your theater of heathen puppets - liberty!

And who the hell even knows where we go
when our last breath turns cold as snow
There is no truth behind the clerus' tottering words!
My fingers are breaking in my prayer help

You only stage a rank, empowering yourself - not us
Committing your sins in the name of God
Now we see liberty in breaking through deceptive laws
Écrasez l'infâme