Fit For An Autopsy
The harvest of the human seed, the Earth is a corpse field, collected
On the wagons, catapulted into mass graces. Foul air corrodes the
Skin. The trumpets sound the alarm of the overwhelming onslaught. Deep
Gaps do open, devouring the dead. Horribly distorted faces leaking
Decay. No conflict resolution, no bond to fix the fault lines. Take
The breath from the Earth. And again and again the clouds will come.
Split the sky, consume the drowning horizon. Fire red as it flashes,
But does not thunder. Embrace the hour of devastation. Bringer of war.
Take the breath from the Earth. Bringer of war. Take the breath from
The Earth. There will never be peace. we will never be safe again. No
Conflict resolution, no bond to fix the fault lines. Take the breath
From the Earth. No history to tell, no legacy to leave behind, no
Future generation. Take the breath from the Earth. Funeral for a
Failing race. A mass of graves where the soil bleeds. Reborn from the
Rotted caskets. This is the harvest of the human seed. The Earth is a