| Blackness, inside to out
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| Like a benign tumor turned terminal
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| Here we are at the dawn our conclusion
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| Penned, paid for and played out by us all
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| Seconds slow as we count down to death
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| Reflection eclipsed by blame to place
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| Fingers point in every direction
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| While resting on hair triggers
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| The gun is our callous indifference
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| The bullet is what we have become
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| We have fellated fate for far too long
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| Taste our infliction, and know that we were wrong
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| There is a beauty within this violent paradigm
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| And that lies with the inevitability of our end
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| Staring into the abyss of man
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| Empty, consumed, ruled by it’s dead hand
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| May the horror of human nature
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| Feed the horror of realization
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| Caskets for empires founded on fault lines
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| Caskets for empires |