Death Of An Era - Tyrannicide

Life is no game of chess.
We are not your pawns.
So fight your own wars.
Your soldiers are revolting.

We are revolting.

You've sent countless men onto your battlefields, to keep your hands clean.
All under the guise that they will make their countries proud, but die for nothing.
Now listen, in the streets, there is a battle cry, we're coming for your head.
Our retribution is at hand, and we're taking our pound of flesh.

From time to time, the tree of liberty must be refreshed
with the blood of patriots and tyrants.

Now the time has come for your blood to spill.

The thundering sound of your head landing in the dirt
Will resonate in the ear of every patriot.
You can run and you can hide,
But your death is just a matter of time.

Hell opens
To welcome you as its prize. [x2]

This is tyrannicide. [x4]

From time to time, the tree of liberty must be refreshed
with the blood of patriots and tyrants.