Grab life by the throat and tear out its eyes.
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Victims of the myth that everyone dies.
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Buried alive from the inside out.
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The maggots will crawl from your pretty mouth.
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You dig the hole, IĄŻll find the bodies.
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Silent lies.
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Quiet eyes.
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No surprise.
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Dead will rise.
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You dig the hole, IĄŻll find the bodies.
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I feel like I am losing my breath.
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The weight of the world is crushing me to death.
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Cursed are the living we envy the dead.
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There never will be a light up ahead.
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When the sun sees its final set,
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And we all choke our final breath.
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Underneath all the coughing and hacking;
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You will hear me, I will die laughing.
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-----------------
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Servant In The Place of Truth
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| The Acacia Strain |
