The nondescript man that you pass in the streets is law unto himself when he places his feet in the symbol of a square and solemnly declares that he'll "hele, concele and never revele" any secrets or mysteries given by decree under pain of death by the 33rd degree. Standing on the threshold of an ancient rite, the hoodwink is removed and he's brought into the light, kneels on his left knee, right fool in a square, re-enacts a murder, it's a sinister affair, stands above a crowd in a lambskin shroud that unprintable name can be uttered out loud. Blood's thicker than water when you stand before the alter. You're privileged by decree to confuse and deceive to protect your brotherhood.
Just a nod and a wink and a surrepitious move
Are the requisites he needs to stand above reproof
Hold back information from those who might enquire
Believed as he does that his brothers stand higher
Underneath the frontage of a giving charity
Lies a sect of men clothed in secrecy
Only those within know what there is to gain
Not for us that knowledge; we're merely the profane.
Companions, nothing remains but, according to ancient custom, to lock up your secrets in some safe repository, uniting the act of fidelity, fidelity, fidelity, fidelity. Corruption on a level that's way above our heads in the halls of justice where the dogs of law tread, pressure on the knuckle and a brother stands to gain through use of a grip called Tubal Cain. Wheels start to turn as a public concern becomes a shady deal where the brotherhood can earn and never reaches the papers of the press because the man who runs the paper has the compass at his breast. Policeman and Judges and members of the bar stand together at the lodge below the six-sided-star, insist that the working's for the good of us all yet obliged to save each other should the masonry fall.
Blood's thicker than water when you stand before the altar. You're privileged by decree you lie and deceive to protect your brotherhood. In the black room, red room, chamber of death, swear allegiance to each other with every breath and these are the men with their fingers in the pies of politics and finance and it's no surprise that the Orangeman Ireland are yet another angle for the craft to employ sorting out the tangle so a few can rule under brotherhood' thumb and with a little bit of nudging thy will be done. "Our motto must be 'All means of force and hypocrisy'. Only sheer force is victorious politics. Violence must be the principle, cunning and hypocrisy rule. "Never gonna know who the men in aprons are - a member of the house or a media star, the master of hounds on his horse at the hunt, with a smile on his face that's sharp and blunt. The boss of a bank sworn to secrecy, the man who makes decisions for the record company, magistrate sitting at the court of law, preacher, teacher. Minister for war - we're never going to know who the brotherhood are, we're never going to know who the brotherhood are. Never going to know who the brotherhood are. Never going to know who the brotherhood are.
Just a nod and a wink and a surrepitious move
Are the requisites he needs to stand above reproof
Hold back information from those who might enquire
Believed as he does that his brothers stand higher
Underneath the frontage of a giving charity
Lies a sect of men clothed in secrecy
Only those within know what there is to gain
Not for us that knowledge; we're merely the profane.
Companions, nothing remains but, according to ancient custom, to lock up your secrets in some safe repository, uniting the act of fidelity, fidelity, fidelity, fidelity. Corruption on a level that's way above our heads in the halls of justice where the dogs of law tread, pressure on the knuckle and a brother stands to gain through use of a grip called Tubal Cain. Wheels start to turn as a public concern becomes a shady deal where the brotherhood can earn and never reaches the papers of the press because the man who runs the paper has the compass at his breast. Policeman and Judges and members of the bar stand together at the lodge below the six-sided-star, insist that the working's for the good of us all yet obliged to save each other should the masonry fall.
Blood's thicker than water when you stand before the altar. You're privileged by decree you lie and deceive to protect your brotherhood. In the black room, red room, chamber of death, swear allegiance to each other with every breath and these are the men with their fingers in the pies of politics and finance and it's no surprise that the Orangeman Ireland are yet another angle for the craft to employ sorting out the tangle so a few can rule under brotherhood' thumb and with a little bit of nudging thy will be done. "Our motto must be 'All means of force and hypocrisy'. Only sheer force is victorious politics. Violence must be the principle, cunning and hypocrisy rule. "Never gonna know who the men in aprons are - a member of the house or a media star, the master of hounds on his horse at the hunt, with a smile on his face that's sharp and blunt. The boss of a bank sworn to secrecy, the man who makes decisions for the record company, magistrate sitting at the court of law, preacher, teacher. Minister for war - we're never going to know who the brotherhood are, we're never going to know who the brotherhood are. Never going to know who the brotherhood are. Never going to know who the brotherhood are.