Автор: Mr. Strange

Has nobody noticed our infection? This slow and willing genocide? Terminal sickness spreads Through thoughts inside our heads Our consciences

I was born to see two thousand years Of man’s effect upon the planet Extinction seems to be a plausible

Blame my cloven hooves — If I sink what does it prove I’ll always will be your prey Blame my

Mired in illusion Lost in the masters game Silenced by the idea of time Nurtured with lies and deceit The

Beams of fire sweep through my head Thrusts of pain increasingly engaged Sensory receptors succumb I am no one now,

Stay with me awhile Rise above the vile Name my final rest Poured into my chest Into the orchard I

All of my stories are below (Below) Beneath the surface cannot grow (Grow, grow, grow) Curled and naked I defer (I defer) To

The anger, the pressure You’re choking down your words again Feel the nerves set in Unspoken frustration They see right

In the age of gold we sculpt with deads In the age of liberty the dread is reigning In the