Ghosts of a Dead Empire

One score for stepparents and the Seven Dwarves
Falling all over yourselves
To be the fairest in the land

Slavery to a cruel idol
Slavery to a hollow fable

Don't forget that your Aryan lust has led
To one hundred men hanging from trees amid the circling crows
And as only the obscure know, the tainted fruit never ends

Slavery to a cruel idol
Slavery to a hollow fable

They opened your mouth and they poured in the good of the land
Then they claimed and leashed you to their heavenly plan
Now the ghosts of a dead empire are written all over your face
Along with the failed ruins of their version of eternal grace