I see the ruins languishing in loneliness
You won't be killed by a blazing thunder
But you'll die under your own weight

And earth won't acceot

The suicidal human tomb

But will spit on it's bones

Greato hour. An hour of creation

And no prohet will pluck up his courage
To call us in grief and fear


Implant the power of inspiration
In the new shapes
Make use of your strength

Thus your own thoughts
And be aware that hard days are coming
I give the weak a look of contempt...


The suicidal human tomb
But will spit on it's bones...