Humankind lined up, before abysses of fire Murder drums rolling, dark warriors brows Paces through mist of blood Black iron clanging Despair, night in sorrowful brains
Under the branches of olive trees At night they scream in their sleep Into the festering mark of the wound The hand of Saint Thomas plunges deep
Behold the shadows eve, hunt and blood money A tempest, the light is cracked, the last supper In bread and wine lies a gentle silence And the once have gathered, twelve in number
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