Hands Bleeding Fear (Pontius Pilate)

Wash your hands pilate, they bleed fear
From the altar of the supreme magistrate
A sick old hag growling from the cage
And it will be a verdict with no resentment

And as the thunder breaks the silence without warning
Sharpen your tongue of the blade of supremacy
Wash your hands pilate, they bleed fear
Because the sword for the victorious is
The sick for the needy
They excrete contempt
And dry our fear on rage of knowledge

Barabra is free and the gates where ajar
Barabra is free and kingdom where rising

Condemn the lamb and devour the head
His heart will be the trophy
In the basin of our crimes

Et renuncio alterum deum
Et renuncio jesum christum
Et ecclesiam apostolicum
In anno sanguinis sigilum

We want to be burned with honour and glory because
He drowns your race in the abyss of pride
But speak magistrate, your word is law

Barabra is free and the gates where ajar
Barabra is free and kingdom where rising