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 frustrated 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 struggling to show that it's been wronged led astray by the myths of the father with acient wounds often ignored fighting for scraps from the table while slowly we rot on the floor struggling for balance amid these unholy lies reflecting terror and chaos we are born into suffering with constructs, 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 the tortured and insane disillusioned and mundane unknown and unnamed desperate and enslaved and we want something more