An address to the stillborn,
lost brothers in arms;
To see the cursed earth
claim to providence;
A pyramid New Jerusalem
The dream is dead.
We´re burning the carcass clean.
We pretend-but we never sleep
500 mules to the faultline.
We decompose and decay.
Captivating the moment.
Spread the disease.
�We come in peace�
As if we almost believed it...
�Strapped to the back
of a live grenade�
If there was ever a saviour,
she´d be the first to leave.
500 miles to the faultline.
We decompose and decay.
Ten thousand leagues
through the coal mines.
We hesitate and comply...
Equal in death only, subject to
our own betrayal.
Inhuman, suspending reality:
what you see is truthful, but lacking.
Misinformation is the new black.
Perfect rejects, we´re all incomplete.
Disfigured at birth,
we´re the human debris.
We´re freaks
We live...
We die... beneath the faultlines...
One more truth to bury.
500 miles to the faultline.
We hesitate at the light.
One day we rise
through the cold tide,
and face away from this
dead end failure to see. |
