| We have seen our enemy
|
| In the retina on the hill we’re made of
|
| Peering through the many tortured minds of the imprisoned and the
|
| Grim actions befallen unto them
|
| We often become blinded
|
| By the sheer eye wrenching
|
| Defacing of the humans we look into
|
| We have viewed remotely
|
| Into the homes of every
|
| Sycophantic birthing unit
|
| They are regretless
|
| And exempt of conscience
|
| Performing tormenting
|
| Repulsive procedures
|
| Bereft of emotion
|
| On all that remains of our youth
|
| That sank from pride to dysentery
|
| In the wake of the parasitic
|
| Serpent hatching
|
| With their hypnotic immunity
|
| Execute the vile deed
|
| Watch as they feed them
|
| Hair skin teeth and cartilage
|
| Digging deeper
|
| Now we view the buried dead
|
| We shall crawl
|
| Into the marrow of their corpses
|
| Make them fly and navigate them
|
| With our weave of blackened liquid
|
| We will wake the resting rotted
|
| We will clear and light the path
|
| Of all that have arrived before us
|
| Through the sirens of the drifted
|
| Vacant dreaming and awaiting
|
| That lay dormant in the earth
|
| Drone Corpse Aviator
|
| Drone Corpse Aviator
|
| Drone Corpse Aviator
|
| Drone Corpse Aviator
|
| Within our weave
|
| We hold a well of black liquid
|
| And with it we will wake the rotted
|
| From their resting fields
|
| With our path now lit we can travel
|
| To the aftermath of our captors entrance
|
| Through the sirens of the drifted
|
| That lay dreaming under the earth
|
| Drone Corpse Aviator
|
| We shall crawl
|
| Into the marrow of their corpses
|
| Make them fly and navigate them
|
| They will move and yell and fight again
|
| But not from breathing
|
| Not alive but ridden from their burrow
|
| They will return
|
| Taking to the air in droves of gliding carrion
|
| Piloting the many flying
|
| With the pull of tar in marrow
|
| They will move and yell and fight again
|
| But not from breathing
|
| Not alive but ridden from the burrow
|
| They will return
|
| Lifted out of every monument
|
| They put up in their honour
|
| All the dead they buried
|
| Now propelling in our flying pattern
|
| They will move and yell and fight again
|
| But not from breathing
|
| Not alive but ridden from their burrow
|
| They will return
|
| Taking to the air in droves of gliding carrion
|
| Piloting the many flying with the pull of tar in marrow
|
| Shifting in formations
|
| That are unknown to humans
|
| We’re blacking out the air
|
| With decomposing gliders
|
| We shall crawl
|
| Into the marrow of their corpses
|
| Make them fly and navigate them |