No scripture showed me how to break these chains, No prophet whispered truths to ease the pain. I found my congregation in the sound— Where volume drowns the lies, where heretics are found. The altar is the stage, the sermon is the riff, The communion is our bodies crashing in the midst. No holy water, just the sweat and blood, No prayers to heaven—just the flood. They tried to save us with their written word, But liberation came through what we heard. Distortion, fury, blast beats like a storm— In the pit we're baptised, in the pit we're born. No gods above, no masters here, Just the weight of sound and bodies without fear— Born in the pit! Where the heretics collide! Born in the pit! No scripture, just the ride! We found our freedom in the chaos and the crush, This unholy congregation—built on riffs and trust! Born in the pit! Where the volume sets us free! Born in the pit! Our counter-liturgy! No heaven, no salvation from above— Just this moment, this collision, this brutal fucking love! They said we needed saving, needed grace, But we found our own in this sonic space. The breakdown hits like revelation's weight, The double-kick drums are our escape. No incense burning, just the amps on ten, No hymns of glory—just our voices raw and spent. We don't need their promise of a better place, We've got this pit, this sound, this shared disgrace. The faithful pray for mercy from their knees, We headbang our defiance to the beat. Their liturgy is silence and control, Ours is noise that shakes your fucking soul. No prophets leading, no book to obey, Just the riff that tells us we're okay— Born in the pit! Where the heretics collide! Born in the pit! No scripture, just the ride! We found our freedom in the chaos and the crush, This unholy congregation—built on riffs and trust! Born in the pit! Where the volume sets us free! Born in the pit! Our counter-liturgy! No heaven, no salvation from above— Just this moment, this collision, this brutal fucking love! This is our ritual without the lies, Our communion without compromise. The pit doesn't promise you tomorrow, It gives you now—and that's enough. We're not waiting for ascension, We're not climbing to the light. We're here, we're loud, we're living— In the beautiful violence of tonight. I wanna see you get into the fucking pit! Born in the pit! Where the outcasts find their home! Born in the pit! We don't need your fucking throne! We found salvation in the sound and in the scar, This unholy congregation—exactly as we are! Born in the pit! No escape, no rise above! Born in the pit! This chaos is our love! No gods, no prophets, no promised other side— Just this moment, this music, this tribe! So raise your hands, throw your body to the sound, We were born in the pit—and we're never backing down. No scripture freed us, just the riffs and roar, The pit is our cathedral—we don't need anything more. Born in the pit. Born in the pit. We were always free— We just needed the sound to remember
