| Song | Hail the Count |
| Artist | Woe of Tyrants |
| Album | Behold The Lion |
| 作曲 : Burns, Catanzaro ... | |
| Inflicting arms extended to | |
| Ground; outstretched frail. Able | |
| Bodies toiling in the fields | |
| Below. A heartfelt slap in forced | |
| Emotion, shaking bouts allow | |
| Incentive. There's an invitation | |
| Passed along the lines up to the | |
| House, the count will vacate | |
| Tonight. Glancing down one last | |
| Time, in hopes of catching their | |
| Eye and oh my, he does enjoy these | |
| Petty torments. | |
| Look beyond | |
| Welcome, a fleeting peace as he | |
| Soars away northbound; a rest for | |
| The weary. A fleeting peace as | |
| The devil flies away. The torches | |
| Of nighttime igniting, there will | |
| Be no break from the labor now, as | |
| The quota must be met. Behind the | |
| Wounds of the toiling pawns' | |
| Resentment, strain faced demons | |
| Overlook the land. The blind | |
| Mans' word rings an infinite | |
| Wisdom, senses empowered by an | |
| Overly sensitive hand. | |
| They | |
| Best behave or they face an end, | |
| Immunity granted for only work to | |
| Bones extent. With the eyes ever | |
| Watching, ever knowing the rules | |
| We've broken they always see. | |
| With a stare into a pale circle, | |
| We're weeping and gnashing. We | |
| Remember the past, our families. | |
| Look beyond welcome, fleeting | |
| Peace as he soars home southbound, | |
| No rest for the weary, and no | |
| Peace as the devil feels | |
| Dismay. | |
| Better behave, oh how | |
| You must behave, a finger to touch | |
| The scar upon your cheek. As | |
| Though sparked by the light cast | |
| Upon them, together they fault at | |
| No dismay and their spirits won't | |
| Be broken. From here I view this | |
| As almost a dream, forgotten, I | |
| Fall to my knees and witness the | |
| Onslaught of peon divine. And we | |
| Must hail the count, in excess | |
| You'll be found, follow onward | |
| Round you'll go it will not stop. | |
| They always ask the question of | |
| Why it's them that is condemned | |
| And left to worship folly of man. | |
| Better behave, oh how you must | |
| Behave. My finger will touch a | |
| New scar upon your cheek |
| zuò qǔ : Burns, Catanzaro ... | |
| Inflicting arms extended to | |
| Ground outstretched frail. Able | |
| Bodies toiling in the fields | |
| Below. A heartfelt slap in forced | |
| Emotion, shaking bouts allow | |
| Incentive. There' s an invitation | |
| Passed along the lines up to the | |
| House, the count will vacate | |
| Tonight. Glancing down one last | |
| Time, in hopes of catching their | |
| Eye and oh my, he does enjoy these | |
| Petty torments. | |
| Look beyond | |
| Welcome, a fleeting peace as he | |
| Soars away northbound a rest for | |
| The weary. A fleeting peace as | |
| The devil flies away. The torches | |
| Of nighttime igniting, there will | |
| Be no break from the labor now, as | |
| The quota must be met. Behind the | |
| Wounds of the toiling pawns' | |
| Resentment, strain faced demons | |
| Overlook the land. The blind | |
| Mans' word rings an infinite | |
| Wisdom, senses empowered by an | |
| Overly sensitive hand. | |
| They | |
| Best behave or they face an end, | |
| Immunity granted for only work to | |
| Bones extent. With the eyes ever | |
| Watching, ever knowing the rules | |
| We' ve broken they always see. | |
| With a stare into a pale circle, | |
| We' re weeping and gnashing. We | |
| Remember the past, our families. | |
| Look beyond welcome, fleeting | |
| Peace as he soars home southbound, | |
| No rest for the weary, and no | |
| Peace as the devil feels | |
| Dismay. | |
| Better behave, oh how | |
| You must behave, a finger to touch | |
| The scar upon your cheek. As | |
| Though sparked by the light cast | |
| Upon them, together they fault at | |
| No dismay and their spirits won' t | |
| Be broken. From here I view this | |
| As almost a dream, forgotten, I | |
| Fall to my knees and witness the | |
| Onslaught of peon divine. And we | |
| Must hail the count, in excess | |
| You' ll be found, follow onward | |
| Round you' ll go it will not stop. | |
| They always ask the question of | |
| Why it' s them that is condemned | |
| And left to worship folly of man. | |
| Better behave, oh how you must | |
| Behave. My finger will touch a | |
| New scar upon your cheek |