Alba s touto skladbou:
Redemption At The Puritans Hand,
All of the God's children, they all have to die
Pauper to King, sworn enemies to kin
From men without sin to those with the beast within
The grave is absolute, the grave is all
Oh death, where are your teeth
That gnaw on the bones of fabled men
Oh, death where are your claws
That haul me from the grave
Do you have justice to trump the divine
To steal the sanctity from their sermon?
Reduce to ash, writing of piety
And conquer the Lord's word, I think you do
Do you bring fear to the hearts of heathens
When your breath is upon their necks?
And the Gods will not answer
And the sun is not in the sky
Oh death, I am not ready for the grave
So turn your steeds around and loosen your reins
I am not one for the tomb
So rise my brothers, rise from your graves
Throw your shackles off and stand by my side
So rise my brothers, rise from your graves
No grave is deep enough to keep us in chains
