Слова:
Morbid Angel Blessed Are The Sick

I smell the ancient's breath The fiends encircle me They speak my name in tongues For I'm no human now I burn the ways conform The gods are pleased

War, kills on the land Blood saturates This hallowed ground, to which my fathers fell Rebel souls, buried deep beneath This hallowed ground, land of

decayed Mass of resurrection Sepulchers abandoned Insurgent souls arise Disseminating evil Curse of devastation Implored by hell's command Darkness rips the land Morbid

my seed condemned No free to soar!!! Will is yours? So, creator No intend could shadow My disease... Ever lusting pain World of sickness Blessed are

seed condemned No free to soar!!! Will is yours? So, creator No intend could shadow My disease... Ever lusting pain World of sickness Blessed are we

not This knowledge makes me strong To resurrect The cities of the damned All the treasure of sodom Now belong to me - celebrate Fallen angels take my

seed condemned No free to soar!!! Will is yours? So, creator No intend could shadow My disease... Ever lusting pain World of sickness Blessed are we

of resurrection Sepulchers abandoned Insurgent souls arise Disseminating evil Curse of devastation Implored by hell's command Darkness rips the land Morbid

: [Music - Azagthoth]