Salt the wound and grin from the Sting
This feeling that can move the air again
Trapped within the clutches of time
Powerless these hands of mine
Wicked tongues of disciples. Sick denial
Bow the to the fires we put on display
Live the virtues we seek to portray
This facade, disgusting fraud
Blind scars are mine beneath the burning Sun
as I'm happy to decompose in a land of freedom
Gunfire rings under The flag of peace
Drowning in the reality of your disease
Writhing in waste and ecstasy
Motive unclear the sheep are in line
Seeking an answer one cannot define
Promising love, tales of home
This machine of blind faith marches on
Blasphemous heresy by those chosen to lead
Greed shall once again devour
Corrupted with power
Sickness and death to feed
Ravenous, such a virulent need
This burden we cannot bear
From this feeling that can move the air