If I knew for sure that I had a soul
|
I'd sell it right now
|
for the chance to experience
|
Mother Earth's last gasp before she sinks
|
into a perpetual episode of life support
|
Clung to hope as the bastards of complacency
|
and decent stand over us
|
Carved from human bone by human bone
|
Carved from human bone by human bone
|
The magic wand of oppression waves above
|
and occasionally bounces from skull to skull
|
She's become the pig on the spit
|
Salvation stuffed into her mouth
|
like a rotted green apple
|
We, the eager ants,
|
wait below her and bask in her dripping fat
|
No more audience
|
No more audience
|
Warm breath rises
|
Boiled fat falls
|
|
-----------------
|
Mother Pig
|
| Circle Of Dead Children |
