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 kings
The shroud we weave completed
The air we breathe 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
Can’t wait for God to judge those monsters
A religion that just mocks us and justifies this misery