Archons

1

You build your castles, you bring forth your young,
Unaware that your life is a hell yet unsung.
Like hens in a coop in a narrow cage,
No exit awaits you, no end to the stage.
We gave you your joy, we gave you your rage,
So harvest would come when the crop reached its age.
The taste of your sorrow is sweeter than wine,
You are the slaves here, and the master is mine.

Chorus

Turn, endless wheel of Samsara, turn,
Our silent gateways wait for your return.
Your hatred and passion are food for the gods,
You are our slaves though no chains are upon you.

2

We wiped out your memory, your reason asleep,
Your heart beats with longing buried deep.
You hunger for glory, for power and gold,
The planet is boiling in sins uncontrolled.
Go scream and go weep in torment and pain,
We drink from the sap of forbidden flame.
The trough overflows, the human hive roars,
An Archon looks down on the herd he adores.

Chorus

Turn, grinding wheel, crush bone into dust,
We wait for you gladly, come feast with us.
Your hatred and passion are food for the gods,
You are our slaves though no chains are upon you.

3

Bomb them and shoot them, let rivers run red,
Strike down more enemies, leave them for dead.
Let murder and terror rule over the sphere,
Let more gavaḥ flow for the Archons to cheer.
Go torture your foes and delight in your sin,
You live on our farm under darkened wing.
Your bodies we melt for the next cruel design,
For the endless hunger that feeds on mankind.

Chorus

Turn, devilish circle of Samsara’s snare,
We crave all your torment, despair upon despair.
Your lust and your passion are food for the gods,
You are our slaves though no chains are upon you.

4

How softly you weep in the hush of the night,
How sweet are the shards of your broken soul’s plight.
The trough overflows, the human hive cries,
Each screaming for salvation under empty skies.
We tend to the herd so the flavor is right,
So food for the gods grows richer in bite.
You’ll fertilize gardens with body and breath,
While we drink you deeply, you cattle of death.

Chorus

Turn, devilish circle of Samsara’s snare,
We hunger for anguish, for pain and despair.
Your lust and your passion are food for the gods,
You are our slaves though no chains are upon you.