| I can hear the dogs in their hysteria
|
| Salivating for the taste of our rotten failure
|
| Brutality of flesh and bone
|
| Making enemies where there were none
|
| Gangs of God are on the move
|
| To bleed the slain in shallow tombs
|
| You can be my cradle and I your grave
|
| Captivated, we fall to meet our fate
|
| Between layers of coma and death
|
| In fields of blood
|
| It’s a sightless, soundless, muted sense of touch
|
| This broken world is spiritless and homeless
|
| Burning in the wreckage of its own damn coldness
|
| Brutality of flesh and bone
|
| Making enemies where there were none
|
| Gangs of hate are on the move
|
| To bleed the slain in shallow tombs
|
| We exist in the crack of life and death
|
| Struggle in between betrayal and the end
|
| Grasping dry
|
| Lifeless earthen
|
| Decomposition
|
| Run and hide
|
| Your flesh is no haven from suffocation
|
| Blood burden knows no bounds
|
| Dig deep to skeletons in the ground
|
| Blood burden knows no bounds |