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