morgues are crowded
where the dying wait
while the living line up
preparing their way
cities are fixed upon
massacres of the living
children are hunted
hatred is a game
all that is left
is a black mass
of flesh of perfumed scent
and a purple hue
the world is synthetic
the living are entombed
within the belly of the beast
we are consumed
in the jaws of destruction
we are doomed
by industrial consumption
we are created
never once
were we mournful
for our situation
because we are born
we call this life
and we adorn our world
with pretty words
and call it good
because we have to
or it won't be
