Buried under an oaken throne
A slumber of a collective consciousness
A cynical stare of distress
A vicious poetry deformed with every dawn
Swallowed by a pale truth Fortifications decay as indulgence is rotting away
Trapped in these suffocating
Halls of the grotesque
Doomed to feel the swarm infest
Raped in the temple of a thousand eyes
Where fear wears no disguise Organic walls feed the ignorant masses
Bathed in a suicidal lie
Echoes of the starving population
A language against weak perception Force-fed with provocation
Statements of irony, a hive of luring pity
Despair crawls under their cracking flesh
A moment of acceptance that there will be nothing left
Misguided and rusted
Bodies of dust swept away by lust
Grieving their absent loss with disgust
Raped in the temple of a thousand eyes, where fear wears no disguise
Organic walls feed the ignorant masses, bathed in a suicidal lie
Devoured by fear, sharpened by frost, rehabilitation crowned in a disemboweled trust
From order to chaos, we will
Invoke the new dawn of perception