You have been judged on your own accord

Our final word seals your fate

King of the Jews, the son of God

Now condemned to death and hate



INRI, INRI, false prophet



Carry the cross upon your back

And take it to where you'll die

A crown of thorns, for you dear king

With the other filth, be crucified



INRI, INRI, false prophet



Taste the blood that trickes from your ravaged brow

As the sands of time run out

Lord of nothing is what we consider you

For victory is truly ours



Now you die