'It is the slave whom truly dreams of freedom, it is a captive's fate; as is the dead man's, to dream of living, a lifetime too late.'

Cursed dove, fly to hell on your black wings of peace
Broken beak preaching lies, at the ebon twilight you cease...

Of make-believe grandeur, gates of death painted glittering gold
Proud traitors, to the enemy's god their souls are sold

In the company of truth, the joyous bells of Heaven are hushed
The gates to hell opened at birth, into absurdity we are rushed...

Our blessings fall from a meteorite laden sky
With a fierce lust for death, a rushing brave war-cry...

Where the sunless dawn does shine, on black waters so bleak
But victory does come, to those who strive, suffer, and relentlessly seek

Invigorated and driven, in the mud where fallen martyrs lie
Cold, expressionless, a heart racing and a mouth dry

Nuclear sons in the age of blood and fire...
Born to ashes and iron, in the season of the liar

Freedom so far away, on the surface world, A Dungeon Deep
In a world inherited from our fathers, who cursed their sons with their sleep

An ancient eye lies blazing invisible, in a sky forewarning menace is near
Heathen omens in pouring rain, a fistful of vengeance, and a heart void of fear

Achieve comradery with death, the timeless laws of genocide
In this massacre of broken souls, let the Fates be our guide

For at the night before the dawn, even tired Death shall fall bloated and sleep...
As man falls war-torn to a new day of 'peace,' in A Dungeon Deep...