The agonal stage of a hostile state is our pyrrhic fate
The great serpent too eagerly choked on its tail
The rattles from the throes of nations echo throughout time
A token of our own conditioning
We've seen the bodies, scorched and they're burning
Their faces twisted and contorting
Greasing the wheels of the machine
We rot
Empires depress, the house always wins
With goring horns the monolith spreads
We rot
Salt the Earth, salt your homes
Doomed to repeat, we reap what is sown
We rot
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