Lyrics Ignatius - Rope
After
period
of
order
Winds
of
change
Dark
days
ahead
They
say
"an
ill
wind
blew
no-one
good",
"he'll
grind
your
bones
to
make
his
bread"
Crushed
beneath
Fortuna's
wheel
all
semblance
of
collective
will
Having
once
been
so
high,
humanity
fell
to
unseen
lows
Once
dedicated
to
the
soul,
now
dedicated
to
the
sale
The
humble
pious
peasant
goes
to
town
to
sell
his
children
to
the
lords
of
capital
For
reasons
questionable
at
best
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