Wake Up

You could stretch your hand with a bouquet of roses

I don't give a damn there's nobody who knows this

You could die with your sins off your shoulders

Soon you'll realise that there's no magic

Off with his head

Merchant of lead

Diverting the masses with unholy breath

The door has fallen and the ground painted red

But still no allegiance to the one born of Nejd

His filthy hands all over the crown

The robes coloured an ungodly brown