Testo di Defaeco

Blackness, inside to out Like a benign tumor turned terminal Here we are at the dawn our conclusion Penned, paid for and played out by us all Seconds slow as we count down to death Reflection eclipsed by blame to place Fingers point in every direction While resting on hair triggers The gun is our callous indifference The bullet is what we have become We have fellated fate for far too long Taste our infliction, and know that we were wrong There is a beauty within this violent paradigm And that lies with the inevitability of our end Staring into the abyss of man Empty, consumed, ruled by its dead hand May the horror of human nature Feed the horror of realization Caskets for empires founded on fault lines Caskets for empires