The agonal stage of a hostile state is our pyrrhic fate. The great serpent too eagerly choked on its tail. The rattles from the throes of nations echo throughout time, a token of our own conditioning. We've seen the bodies, scorched and they're burning. Their faces twisted and contorting, greasing the wheels of the machine. We rot. Empires depress, the house always wins, with goring horns the monolith spreads. We rot. Salt the Earth, salt your homes, doomed to repeat, we reap what is sown. We rot.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
