We are dying in the wake of gods and decrees remain arcane
And everything around us is a consequence of pain


The writings on the wall depict a truth that no one reads
A government of puppets blinded by another creed


Burning voice of insanity
Nothing is the same
Barren lands for the idle man

Find all the lines in your hand

Blinding storms are surrounding us

Take control
In our caps, poisoned wine
Find all the lines in your hands