| Agrarian world bathed in blood from ages past
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| Fixated and strangulated
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| This twisted seed, a bastard breed
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| Sewn for surplus
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| Sustaining domination through extraction
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| A policy of scorched earth, imitating wilderness
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| In disgust we have judged the propagator of this disease
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| Life undone, a broken trust, they’ve made a desert and called it peace
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| Strangling hold, so called fields of gold
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| As far as the eyes can see
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| What you call life, I call blight, and it must end
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| For earth to breathe
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| Poisonous streams
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| Bathed in tears, cascade into an airless void
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| Faded and irradiated
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| Feed death machines, such boundless greed
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| Desalinated, a fool’s gambit
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| Their last defense is now removed
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| The slow march of death begins
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| This silence heralds the coming of their doom
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| Trapped in a spiral of supply and demand
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| Feeding new mouths to in time work this land
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| At the crack of the whip they will dance to the tune
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| Of the lies made by the madmen who extract and consume
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| Whose tombs are lined with their gold yet are buried in the sludge
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| Of a hewn and exploited world
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| Dark below where no light lies, shifting under iron hides
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| Final bastion of the deep, taken to extremes
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| Without the sun, they can endure, devourers of flame and stone
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| Mankind is weak; |
| susceptible |