Death at the Hands of the Krushing Red

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RASPUTIN'S DICK

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Death at the hands of the
Krushing red

As the wicked willow moans it's solemn song for thee
I see the roots now swamped in blood from centuries
Of eternal conflict
Of a war once prophesied
To be the end of man
The end of Rasputin

Still the will of our lord falters not
Back from the grave he bears the flame once thought lost
Cold is the land
By the hand
Of the
Krushing Red

Now in death we march
With glory-bound heart
Bear witness to the sound
Of your kingdom coming down

On we march

Up through the grave
And on through the grave-site
To reclaim the dreams
Once lost

The bitter cold will fade with time
Through death
We'll shine

Still the will of our lord falters not
Back from the grave he bears the flame once thought lost

We march

Up through the grave
And on through the grave-site
To reclaim our dreams

Up through the grave-site
To reclaim the dreams we lost

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