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O, how we've disgraced our mother,
the end of times are near,
I can smell her rotting,
we've burned the beds where we rest,
prepare for the coming of the destroyer,
and on this foul day, when the fifth trumpet sounds,
a star will fall from heaven to earth,
then from the smoke and dust, came the wind of the locusts,
if we survive, we will never be the same again,
and he will come to us in the form of a king,
king of the insect demons, king of the realm of the dead,
he is the key, the loicust reign, scorpion's sting,
and we all know that pride is the downfall of man,
we trust, and thus we will become dust and bone,
he is the key, tortured are we,
slowly we rot-
machine will rise from the remains of heroes,
spewing vile plague and disease,
it is our essence to fight,
and fight we must,
and fight we will-
our people line the fields,
the blood of men will wash away,
as the machines fall, we are victorious,
but for how long,
do we determine our fate,
the destroyer is near-
as [our] millenium passes us by,
our fights with machines enrage,
how long until we're overpowered,
how long until we're no more,
we're running out of time,
with each passing day,
we've scorched her fields,
polluted her breath,
and left her gutted and bled-
O, how we've disgraced our mother,
prepare for the coming of the destroyer

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