Hands Bleeding Fear (Pontius Pilate)

Wash your hands pilate, they bleed fearFrom the altar of the supreme magistrateA sick old hag growling from the cageAnd it will be a verdict with no resentmentAnd as the thunder breaks the silence without warningSharpen your tongue of the blade of supremacyWash your hands pilate, they bleed fearBecause the sword for the victorious isThe sick for the needyThey excrete contemptAnd dry our fear on rage of knowledgeBarabra is free and the gates where ajarBarabra is free and kingdom where risingCondemn the lamb and devour the headHis heart will be the trophyIn the basin of our crimesEt renuncio alterum deumEt renuncio jesum christumEt ecclesiam apostolicumIn anno sanguinis sigilumWe want to be burned with honour and glory becauseHe drowns your race in the abyss of prideBut speak magistrate, your word is lawBarabra is free and the gates where ajarBarabra is free and kingdom where rising