Spoils of the Horde Songtext
von Fit for an Autopsy

Return to torches
Pitchforks
Fires that never cease
The suffering of the oppressed
Cast back at the oppressor′s feet
It's a race to the bottom
How deep is your deceit
No give all take
Sever the head of the bastard snake
All was spoken for
Before the door was kicked off the hinges
Now we move in darker forms
Yeah you better pray for fucking forgiveness


A mother′s cry, a beggar's plea, the people's final stand
The drugs, the wars, the poverty
It′ll fucking break a better man
And my blood runs cold
When the heart becomes a black hole
The casualty of our collapse
Kill what you can′t control

Kill what you can't control

Scorched earth fiends
Backroom banshees
Fangs to the throat
Higher sanctum
Inner circle
Leeches, rats, and moles
Spoils of the horde
Exterminate their kind
An oath to all who suffer
Take back what′s fucking mine

A mother's cry, a beggar′s plea, the people's final stand
The drugs, the wars, the poverty
It′ll fucking break a better man
And my blood runs cold
When the heart becomes a black hole
The casualty of our collapse
Kill what you can't control


I drew a line and I crossed it
The edge is closer this time
I drew a a line and I crossed it
It's the only way we survive

There′ll be no offering of peace
Only fuel for the fires that never cease
Fucking thieves

Thieves

How deep is your deceit

Fucking theives
There′ll be a marvelous blaze in your reckoning

All glory to the fires that never burn out
All glory to the fires that never burn out
All glory to the fires that never burn out
All glory to the fires

All glory to the fires that never burn out
All glory to the fires that never burn out
All glory to the fires that never burn out
All glory to the fires