Bathory's Sainthood

do you feel alive now, now that you own the dead
preying on their corpse, their hearts no longer fed
your sainthood is obvious on every starving face
your deception's given us a way to separate
the poor from their hate, the rich from the stone
genuflect away the sins that we've known
sure one percent rules, but heaven's made of gold
so chalk it up to folly and consequence alone
do we really want do we really need a bastard messiah
wrapped up in the dream of patriotic clean white washed desire
and every time the real war's defined,
the trenches are filled to hide battle lines
torches to bridges and bridges to torture
headlines distort what we see as our borders
and what gives us the right to feel without remorse for a good they created
a god for the poor,
for bathory we're bleeding out the devil hides in angelic shrouds
blasphemy as speaking out we've asked for it for more of the same
sad scheme of ghettos created by the power elite,
for our minds and souls burning
no longer for freedom invoked just more of the same