Happy Fingers

Play the cards of fascination

Tread the bards of extermination

Here we are, the sons of peril

Hear the call for liberation here

But then we're all losing

Our kindly nature

Stoking the flame of your

Weak

Mental

Capacity

We are fickle makers of tragedy

Break the fall of desecration

Standing tall above our past

Spread the lies upon our nation

Pledge the call to liberate

Be my pardon

Align your pretensions of

Why we, why we, why we won't break

We see your attention too

You are point blank

Blighted

You take, you take, you take care of your kind

I am the chosen one

I am the broken one

I am the fallen son

I am the Protestant

I am the creature that

Follows the foolery

All of the prisoners

Of all your profiting

Lies of the best

Lie to my face until the end

We all swore to apathy

We are the sons

Tragedy

Wide awake

Awaken me

Like a bird never came

I see you

Head high

High

We know why

We are worst of

Came to waste

They who decided your

Fate of the chosen one

Fate of the broken one

Fate of the fallen son

I am the Protestant

I'm with the vision that's played to their detriment

You are the one that supports all of their profiting

We bury the seed

Brittle, brittle, brittle, brittle needs

Need

Eyes wide open

Pray you'll be saved

Don't want to be more of what you can't be

Keeping the evil alive

We are

No

Pleasures are sounding so evil

How can this be?

Half a being

Less of all of the shameful ones

Half beings