the wreckage of humanity has been strewn across the land
and now the hour of desperation is at hand
we the maggots feed off the dead seeking solace in a bed of broken glass
we bleed infected water beneath bright skins of polished steel
through empty, yearning, starved and [bad word] hearts
which long for risk and reason
this is a standard and sterile half-life to lead
empty facades conceal slow decay

within these new dark ages which breed discontent
to give up all hope to see the dawn
reveals a victims face beneath the veneer [bad word] to show that it’s been wronged
led astray by the myths of the Father
with ancient wounds often ignored
fighting for scraps from the table while slowly we rot on the floor [bad word] for balance 
amid these unholy lies reflecting terror and chaos

we are born into suffering
with [bad word] icons, idols, and eyes
which manifest and forecast 
our fear 
of our own demise

but on the eve of the apocalypse
you can burn these words into my flesh:
«we are tortured and insane 
disillusioned and mundane
unknown and unnamed desperate and enslaved
and we want something more»