We awaken to the smell of sulfur.
Our children are dead.
Our houses burnt.
Was this something that we could have planned for?
Or just a part of the American dream?
Corrupt politicians begging for more.
They blind us with faith, just to kick down our doors.
The office is split, but they agree upon war.
Is this a part of the American dream?
Freedom judged by the flip of a coin.
No constitution, no power of voice.
The rich will prevail as the common man fails.
Til' we sever the head and redeem ourselves.

Disemboweling the treasonous ones as times revert to a primitive age.
Hands of stone, smite the guilty, burn the wretched; terror-breeding.
Ironclad, the might of many. A new hope spawns as buildings burn.
No longer their cattle, we breed not machine; hope.

No longer a circus of mules, marching in rhythm, for we've snipped the strings.

Disemboweling the treasonous ones as times revert to a primitive age.
These are the darkest of days.
Ironclad, the might of many. A new hope spawns as buildings burn.
The manifestation of mutiny.

No longer a circus of mules, marching in rhythm.
For we've snipped the strings, free at last to feel the dirt on our backs as we roll around in the soil of mother earth.
We'll rejoice in small victories.

Forward unto preservation.

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