The Haunted - Faultline


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.
WeŽre 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,
sheŽd 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, weŽre all incomplete.
Disfigured at birth,
weŽre the human debris.
WeŽre 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.

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