The Final March

This is the call to arms, the final call Exchanged the shuttle for the sword For generations we slaved away in the shadows of their towers The world we know, a torture-chamber Born as servants, exploited til death To their machines were marching with Captain Ludd in mind The final march begins, down with all the kings The shroud we weave completed The air we breath is not the stench of slavery Down with the king Down with all kings Winter-withered bodies, souls sunken into misery Our minds and future as black masters hearts Now we engage the enemy; the web we weave completed Can't wait for God to judge those monsters A religion that just mocks us and justifies this misery