Текст песни Souls of the Unborn (Kashmere) с переводом

From the depths of the nothing my will is manifested

Raise up from the dust, homeboy you’re getting tested

In this final wager, man!!! I’m on some next shit

Order from chaos, I’m getting this perfected

The dragon, is getting stronger in the belly of the mother

Hope you’re a fast runner!

There’s always somewhere to run nowhere to hide

From the dark side, unless you can fly

But even then go high enough and you’ll die

You need divine assistance, the vision in your eye

Most of us wear the blindfold of ignorance, why?!

Is it the laughable matter?

Follow like sheep so nobody laughs at ya

Except for the devil, the evil plan hatcher

Crazy like the man in the mirror

A reflection of me, now I’m seeing things clearer

Go against the grain or walk into the jaws of hell

Peace to the George Orwell (yeahhh! yeahhh!)

Silver chaos pendant

I’m dropping ill spells in the physical dimension

Over my tantric altar I spit the ill verse

Close my eyes, see the ill scene like Steven Spielberg

I’m walking, you’re wondering where I’m heading?

To the hills of the armageddon!

Let us pray for the souls of the unborn

Roadkill in the headlights of the juggernaut

Blood pumps fast with the force of the metaphor

Burst forth from the chest, birth of the xenomorph

I’m the shadow that emerged from the cellar door

Planets in my palm get crushed like a pepper corn

Watch how I meteors

Teleportation my method of transport

At the epicenter of the sandstorm

Many men perish in the belly of the rancourt

Though they ran for the cover of the trees

They were already marked with the number of the beast

Scheduled for extermination

The murderer’s blade is the fertisilation

Of Satan’s egg, rebirth of the godhead

Life on the planet no more than a cot death

See how the milk turns blood red

The undead scattter in the light of the sunset

Protect the innocent, brave the police state

Blade in the back, the betrayal of a team mate

Just a sacrificial offering

Throw away toys for the dark lord’s offspring

And I’m locked in the prison of this conflict

Trampled to death in the middle of the mosh pit

And I’m not the door man, I’m the locksmith

Follow me, fourth horseman of the apocalypse

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