|
The velveteen and oaken fixtures soothed the lonely child |
|
The parents watched the escort take him while they stood outside |
|
The priest was kind and gentle as he positioned his head |
|
The pain was like brimstone, but the kid hardly bled |
|
Victory, instinct over intellect |
|
Victory, it erupts from deep inside |
|
History, history is laughing at us plotting its discovery |
|
Victory, victory, blame it on the victory |
|
Among the parade crowd there stands a decorated man |
|
Remembering how he helped to save this sacred land |
|
His helpless enemy was wounded, both hands raised with hope |
|
He killed him without second thought, with brute force and a rope |
|
Victory, instinct over intellect |
|
Victory, it erupts from deep inside |
|
History, history is laughing at us plotting its discovery |
|
Victory, victory, blame it on the victory |
|
So many times, so many lives |
|
Test the other side |
|
Waiting to see what the maker has in mind |
|
The unsuspecting commoners hum diligent each day |
|
They wallow in their father's sins, as time passes away |
|
The crimes are without motive but they ignore all restraint |
|
The evil sits inside them torpid timing its escape |
|
Victory, instinct over intellect |
|
Victory, it erupts from deep inside |
|
History, history is laughing at us plotting its discovery |
|
Victory, victory, blame it on the victory |
|
Blame it on the victory |
|
Blame it on the victory |
|
Plotting its discovery |
|
Victory, victory, blame it on the victory |
