the wreckage of humanity has been strewn across the land
and now the hour of desperation is at hand
we the maggots feed off the dead

seeking solace in a bed of broken glass
we bleed infected water
beneath bright skins of polished steel

through empty, yearning, starved and frustrated hearts
which long for risk and reason
this is a standard and sterile half-life to lead

empty facades conceal slow decay
within these new dark ages which breed discontent
to give up all hope to see the dawn

reveals a victims face beneath the veneer
struggling to show that it's been wronged
led astray by the myths of the father

with acient wounds often ignored
fighting for scraps from the table
while slowly we rot on the floor

struggling for balance amid these unholy lies
reflecting terror and chaos
we are born into suffering

with constructs, icons, idols and eyes
which manifest and forecast our fear of our own demise
but on the eve of the apocalypse

you can burn these words into my flesh:
"we are the tortured and insane disillusioned and mundane
unknown and unnamed desperate and enslaved

and we want something more"