Crimson Profit

[Intro] [Verse 1] Echoes of the battlefield, a symphony of dread, Rusted blades in trembling hands, the voiceless left for d**d. No coins for the fallen, just hollow, empty cries, While faceless kings in golden thrones feast on our demise. [Chorus] We march to the rhythm of profit and pain, A puppet’s parade in a bloodstained game. They laugh as we break, their vaults overflow, Our souls are the currency—w*r’s endless shadow. [Verse 2] Medals forged from ash, a lie we’re meant to wear, Ghosts of brothers whisper, “None of us were spared.” The trenches reek of copper, the air is thick with guilt, Yet brokers trade our tragedies—the markets never wilt. [Bridge] Break the chains, ignite the flame, let the truth erupt, Scorch the ivory towers where the vultures corrupt. Every shell that falls, every widow’s plea, Feeds the beast that thrives on our misery. BLEGH! [Breakdown] [Chorus] We march to the rhythm of profit and pain, A puppet’s parade in a bloodstained game. They laugh as we break, their vaults overflow, Our souls are the currency—w*r’s endless shadow. [Outro]