The placenta of vermin is ripe and thick. Human disease and proud of it. Bestowed upon them, the weight of space. The sands of time have gone to waste. The beating heart s of the many. The endless withering minds. The gift of life. The illusion of the gift. The kneeling peasants and bodies set adrift. We eat our cake. We drink our wine. They hold our hearts. They suckle our minds. A society of plastic. A military of rabid beasts. They’ll drain our every resource, until the final feast.
Гуру Песен