One is born, one dies
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We're fragile and soft
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Our surroundings are harsh
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Our surrondings are hostile
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The world takes what it wants
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Nobody's secure
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Nobody is safe
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Don't take it for granted
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To see another day
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Murder, accident, suicide, and disease
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We're lucky to be here
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We're lucky to live
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So much is trivial
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Beyond that idea
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Murder, accident, suicide, and disease
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The soul is sacred
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It defines our being
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And without the body
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The force is freed
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Leaving only a shell
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The land increases
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-----------------
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The Land Increases
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| Sick Of It All |
