Away from our decaying urban cores
Exists the luscious meadows of Albion
(And) Though violated by the error of our creation
They’ll triumph when we are but dust

Pride wells within as our ancestry reclaimed
Far too long have we toiled and striven within the fogs
The heady urban mists that consume, man and soul

Spirit manipulated beyond conception
The self transformed to a hollow
Sorrow and emptiness breeds within
Yet still (shackled) I search for my own worth.

Our debris feeds the rats while the trees are butchered for progression.

Dying roots fester beneath the asphalt
Dead veins to a now meaningless cause
And yet we decry our decay
When evidence is but plain to the eye
We piss away youth, and then await death
The uncomprehended futility of this hollow game

Humanity’s perverted relationship with the earth
has brought to us what we desire

How long must I dwell in this steel and concrete tomb
simply waiting to be reborn?

Awake once more the stench of the city hangs in the air
Cloying and inescapable I choke and as I stand on stolen earth
I weep at the first bluebell of spring

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