The Conquistador

The galleons cut the poison tide...
With iron cross and fevered pride...
They trade their God for heathen stone...
And plant their flag on broken bone...
The jungle screams... but makes no sound...
As the new world's turned to holy ground...

GOLD!
CROSS!
BLOOD... is the cost!
PRAY!
SLAY!
TAKE... it all away!
With a sword in one fist, and a lie on the tongue—
KILL! BURN! PREACH!
For the souls you've hung!

They see no man, just savage skin...
Their mercy rots from deep within...
The temples fall, the rivers swell...
With crimson tales they'll never tell...
The echo of their pious cries...
Is just the vulture's lullaby...

GOLD!
CROSS!
BLOOD... is the cost!
PRAY!
SLAY!
TAKE... it all away!
With a sword in one fist, and a lie on the tongue—
KILL! BURN! PREACH!
For the souls you've hung!

GOLD...
CROSS...
BLOOD... is the cost...
PRAY...
SLAY...
TAKE...it all... away...