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Now that the storms of some fallen apostasy are quenched
Now that the sons of some revolting lapse are free again
The weak to blame, to make suffer the drying thirst
A throng of saviours guided the pale crowd of sons to a mountain’s cliff
Their self-atoning murmuring against the fierce wind
A voice from the low scornfully intruded:
“you’ll burn alive you poor deluded!

my struggle is against your coward lowness
which mostly ruined our earth’s goodness
against you half-souls I’ll struggle as any conqueror should
when shame and disgrace become his food.”

“seedy ill stranger, who blemished our creed
thy voice arose longed-for and dreaded as a sin
the forlorn souls within us, dismaying
implored our cherished father to condemn thee”

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Brigadisco Records Itri, Italy

Combat Label

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