For the first trick he’ll concieve,
first one Adam, then one Eve;
He’s the father they believe


Building with divine precission,
temples, statues, edifices,
made of sweat, blood and sacrifices;
To summon sheep into submision,
in the name of gods and their religion;


He controls, through lies and terror,
in the name of the cross bearer,
or some other holly master….
He’s the pastor of disaster;


Fear of what we are, of what we do,
has got me scared too…


We created a machine,
which swallows everything that’s green,
And dig deep wholes into the earth,
to take riches that are not worth,
not even the dirt that we unearth;


Oh the vanity,
we wear it with pride, such insanity,
We celebrate profanity,
and condemn humanity,
to die young of self-made calamity


But there’s one last trick up his sleeve,
we do not see, we’re so naive,
so easy to deceive…
The last act which he’ll concieve,
he’ll take the riches and then he’ll leave,
leaving us empty and in grieve.