Lost in the shrill hiss of the wind
A figure approached the site
Masked both without and within
A black mass looks down his sight
Opened fire, suppressed at close range
No will or wanting a change
Just dying to watch rotting slaves
Under his servitude, fill his domain

Lost in the shrill hiss of the wind
The wailing of children in graves
Dig, dig, dig into skin
Pull out the rotting remains
Their fate will be the same
A **** without the shame
No ductape, so no screams
Their mothers would be pleased

Lost in the dead night
Two busted up broads
*** pays real right
After you met that rod
That met the side of your face
Who would pay you now?
Not even your own son
And for him you make it free