Many an age has lapsed since a fanfare graced these timeworn furrowed streets
May we mock the notion of virtue May we mock the notion of mercy
We, the strutting herd, drift proudly beneath the corpses of trumpters hung from long-dead trees; scorning the beggars who drink from foul ditches along these timeworn furrowed streets
May we mock the notion of benevolence May we mock the notion of hope
We, the strutting herd have embraced our failure We reap a lurid pleasure in burying once noble ideals like intelligence and compassion We writhe enraptured in willful ignorance, apathy, and rampant arrogance We are Man, Earth's primordial wound, and we have made no attempt to convalesce by means of enlightenment
May we burst with sepsis en masse May the earth be awash in our purulenceTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
