The massacre ov the innocents

We are betrayed
By our brothers
Through we were begotten
By one mother
Their blood poisoned
By a devilish seed
They let out screaming
Hecatomb
When the infernal storm
Brakes out
And the light of the end
Go on
I will cut the corn
With a sharp sickle
I will cut the bunch
With a sharp sickle
I will throw it to
The press of rage