Back when the world was young and clay, a nomadic clan took stage, They made a pact not with the sky, but with a lower, darker age. They turned from the cosmic light to a golden calf of greed, To Moloch, the bronze furnace god, to satisfy a need. Not for bread or water, but for the flesh of their own young, A living sacrifice, a horror on the tongue. In the valley of Hinnom, they'd pass their children through the flame, A burnt offering to power, whispering a demon's name. They worshipped the starry host, the Queen of Heaven's sway, And built their high places where the righteous wouldn't pray. They took the sacred stories, the cosmic laws of old, And wove them into a tapestry of lies, to be bought and sold. A chosen people narrative, but chosen by whom, I ask? A father of lies, in a monumental, hellish task. A history written in the blood of the innocent, A lineage forged in a covenant malevolent. They carry the mark, not on the skin, but in the soul, A parasitic story that's taken its toll. They cried out for a king, to be like the other tribes, To trade divine protection for military bribes. Saul lost his mind on the battlefield of pride, David, a poet murderer, with blood he couldn't hide. He sent a man to die to take another's wife, And bathed in the corruption of his own tainted life. Then Solomon, the wise one, whose wisdom was his flaw, He let a thousand foreign princesses lead him from the law. He built temples for Chemosh, for Ashtoreth and Astarte, And filled his holy city with a decadent, dark party. The kingdom he built fractured, split right down the seam, A reflection of the spiritual decay, a waking dream. The prophets they ignored, the righteous men they stoned, And for their demonic pacts, they were fully disowned. A history written in the blood of the innocent, A lineage forged in a covenant malevolent. They carry the mark, not on the skin, but in the soul, A parasitic story that's taken its toll. Exiled to Babylon, they didn't learn their lesson, They just refined their methods, mastered their confession. They studied dark arts in the Chaldean courts, And came back with a Talmud, filled with legalistic torts. A book of their own making, where God is just a tool, And the goyim are but cattle, to be broken and ruled. They whitewashed their own tombs, appearing clean and pure, But inside, only rot and spiritual demure. When the true Messiah walked, in flesh and blood and grace, They saw not a savior, but a threat to their whole place. They couldn't stand his teaching of a kingdom not of earth, A love that broke the chains of their ritualistic worth. So they conspired with the Romans, they bargained and they lied, And washed their hands of murder, with pious, hollow pride. We have no king but Caesar, they screamed with all their might, And sealed their own damnation in the fading light. They scattered to the winds, a punishment fulfilled, But the seed of their rebellion, a bitterness, instilled, It traveled with them, through every century and land, A poison in the chalice of a future they had planned. A history written in the blood of the innocent, A lineage forged in a covenant malevolent. They carry the mark, not on the skin, but in the soul, A parasitic story that's taken its toll. In the shadows of empires, they learned the arts of finance, Of usury and debt, a weapon to entrance. They became the court advisors, the royal moneylenders, Whispering in the ears of kings and traitorous pretenders. From Spain to Poland, they'd be welcomed then expelled, A pattern of behavior, a story always told. They'd cry out persecution, while they fomented strife, Manipulating nations, controlling trade and life. They funded the wars between the goyim kings, And profited from the chaos and the ruin that it brings. They created their own ghettos, walls to keep them pure, But it was to guard their secrets, to make their plans secure. A history written in the blood of the innocent, A lineage forged in a covenant malevolent. They carry the mark, not on the skin, but in the soul, A parasitic story that's taken its toll. The age of revolution, a time of upheaval and thought, Was their time to shine, a brand new page was bought. They financed Napoleon, they backed the Red revolt, A godless, new world order, a deadly, final bolt. They created their "isms" to fracture and divide, Communism for the masses, a place where souls can't hide. Capitalism for the elite, a system of control, To break the spirit of the nations and to strip them of their soul. And now we see the culmination, the final, grand design, A stolen patch of desert, a flag with a sinister sign. They call it Israel, a fortress for their race, A headquarters for evil, a central, global base.
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