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