The Final March

This is the call to arms, the final call

Exchanged the shuttle for the sword

For generations we slaved away in the shadows of their towers

The world we know, a torture-chamber

Born as servants, exploited till death

To their machines we're marching with Captain Ludd in mind

The final march begins, down with all the kings

The shroud we weave completed

The air we breath is not the stench of slavery

Down with the king!

Down with all Kings!

Winter-withered bodies,

Souls sunken into misery

Our minds and future as black as our masters' hearts

Now we engage the enemy; the web we weave completed

Cant wait for god to judge these monsters

A religion that just mocks us and justifies this misery