Desertified ground Once fertile now drowns In endless sun – desolate.
Feckless transgression: An absence of hope, Led masses to indolence.
Blight of the failures Of leaders did force The might of the butcher's hand.
With nails encrusted in blood The youth crowd the streets, Clawing at vermin, People need their meat.
It is preferred they have no spine. A mortal caste akin to swine.
Captive hoards wither down in cells, Quarantined, untouchable they dwell, Longing for the final toll of knells, The wrathless granted worthiness – at last!
“Those willing to feast upon the flesh of the wicked will inherit endemic Earth.”
Load up the old carts: White lies through dark meat, They will be sold.
Pull wool over the eyes, Consume “caprine delight,” Pretend it to be what you will.
The truth slinks down bone-dry drains Along with sinewy clots, All that's left is washed away With open mouths to live another day.
Strength of starving minds Magnified by power; In the might of the butcher's hand Have met their fateful match.
It is preferred they have no spine. A mortal caste akin to swine.
“When the key from desperation is lodged in the gut of the enemy, call them bovine, call them caprine, call them “fit for consumption,” Grade A, Prime.”
Keep the truth Lodged in stone. Suck the fruit, Chew the bone. When the lie Comes to light, There are no wrongs That triumph might.
Pay top-dollar, drool as you might, Deny desire, hate what's so right, Fried, basted, charcoal smoked, Dowse the hunger flames did stoke, All because I got your goat."Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
