This is a fading trace of reality

Distorted lines of freedom

Where the mediocre man prevails
Absolute flattery of equality


Like the procession of the hearse
Slowly leading the lamenting mob
To the burial of existence


Industrie des fleisches
Schlachthaus der Gedanken


No more traces of reality


It fears, it cries, it hopes, it loves
That little sphere filled with fragile life
Already crawling into death row


Industrie des fleisches
Schlachthaus der Gedanken


When followers drown into non-self
Irradiated by constriction of mind

A grandiose self arises to stand and refuse
The innocence of his peers mangles his deep ego
Cracking like whips on flesh

Altering his senses until all humanity is gone

Perceptions are swirling - visions darkened

And as lucidity vanishes - anger is soon in control
This outburst of violence - pure and devoid of reason
Takes hold of a new reality


He reigns
They fall