The glory of our blood and faith
Death lays its icy hand on kings today
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
You can`t stop
HELL! Sceptre and crown
HELL! Equal made
Some men with swords may reap the field
And plant the rotten seed, where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield
They tame but one another still:
When they soon will creep to death
Creep to fcking death