Given a gift of darkness, our coven embraces the heritage
Practising forgotten arts, bloodline is the rite of
passage
Burning can not erase our kin
Blessed be the patriots of sin
Terrorized, victimized
The taking of our mortal
lives
Changes nothing
Touched by devilish desire, demonized by authority
The flesh may burn but our spirits are marked by
eternity
Our essence is beyond the ashen skin
Blessed be the patriots of sin
Forbidden knowledge runs in our
veins
Risking the stake, mentally or physically
We are the unknown, the chaos breed
Shattering the false, spitting at
stagnation
(so be it, patriots we are, patriots of sin)
At night we speak to the dead, we sing praise to the moon
Burning
candles and herbs
Mixing oak, ash and thorn, forming the sign of the horns
As it is and must be
Among the masses we walk,
revealed only by our eyes
Burning fiercer, stronger than the common mans
Nothing is stronger than the flames within
Blessed
be the patriots of sin
Blessed be the patriots of sin
Blessed be.