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the wreckage of humanity has been strewn across the land
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and now the hour of desperation is at hand
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we the maggots feed off the dead
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seeking solace in a bed of broken glass
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we bleed infected water
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beneath bright skins of polished steel
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through empty, yearning, starved and frustrated hearts
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which long for risk and reason
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this is a standard and sterile half-life to lead
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empty facades conceal slow decay
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within these new dark ages which breed discontent
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to give up all hope to see the dawn
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reveals a victims face beneath the veneer
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struggling to show that it's been wronged
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led astray by the myths of the father
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with acient wounds often ignored
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fighting for scraps from the table
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while slowly we rot on the floor
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struggling for balance amid these unholy lies
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reflecting terror and chaos
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we are born into suffering
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with constructs, icons, idols and eyes
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which manifest and forecast our fear of our own demise
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but on the eve of the apocalypse
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you can burn these words into my flesh:
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"we are the tortured and insane disillusioned and mundane
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unknown and unnamed desperate and enslaved
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and we want something more"
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Reflections
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Trial |