Miasma!
The stench of sulfur emits.
Ashen clouds of gray warrant our miscalculations.
In the end, we see that our success was build off of ruin.

The sleepers awaken.
We fall under rapid relinquence.
Desensitized; our minds, to take the soul of our planet for granted.

The stench of plasma emits.
Ashen clouds of gray warrant our miscalculations.

We built our walls up high.
They said it would keep out the crime.
Instead, we turn upon ourselves.
Enslaved to the blade.

The ancients laugh in dismay.
A failed society.

One more soul to be fed to the machine.
One more soul to sew it's seams.
Through time and space.
Through the cosmic erase.

We've used up all of our resources to paint these illusions of grandeur.
How could we live so blind, yet in the end, seek compromise?

Our moral eclipse has rotted in piss.

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