The future sticks out its tongue in the eyes of the gentle past It fears its own demise but knows it cannot last
This momentary throne precariously formed from its ashes It takes the time we thought was ours below to be reborn
Throw us away like a stack of old paper Learn not from our scrawls Close your ears to our rantings and come against us Flex your hooked claws and sniff Like a dog at the stench of our decaying minds Distrust the deceitful math of our perishing eyes Run away from the phthisicky pastTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
