| Land of treason-waste no reason-
|
| We are breathing fire
|
| We’re packs of dogs-
|
| We’re enemies of men-we are not desired
|
| Our face show-
|
| We’ve grown cold-but
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| Have not conspired
|
| Old hearts gone-
|
| The future’s on-mother nations mired
|
| I like a recepticle for the chosen dead
|
| We find our bodies clawed
|
| And with the scent of death
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| We find that we are not so very awed
|
| Loyalties burned-
|
| The words our blurred-overturn your own
|
| Walk like dogs and watch the doors-
|
| Have your other stone
|
| Stop the toys that match disordered-
|
| Calculate the thrones
|
| Feel the pulse descending-
|
| Decaying hallowed tomes
|
| In the starving sense you worship-
|
| The nations of debris
|
| You wear a cost of sewage-
|
| That you’ve never ever seen
|
| The time is now-the vicious here-
|
| A stolen dinner code
|
| The license of the savage land-
|
| That you’ve always sold
|
| So bite the hand that needs you
|
| And bless another coal
|
| The virus never issues-
|
| From a cotton so very old
|
| As the lights come down
|
| You wash your hands and start to climb
|
| The ladder that you stole
|
| Slip the hatch-and spin the sword-
|
| The money lords are poor
|
| Push the tan-that rolls downhill-
|
| Their sense of dream absorbed
|
| Still the cat that breaks the night-
|
| Tie him to the core
|
| Chase the viruses that believe-
|
| That what’s right is scored
|
| It’s a senseless cash in of right for right-
|
| What’s wrong is never gone
|
| And left is just a bastion for the fools
|
| Golden dawn |