Black abysmal hole
Crusted walls
Sodden floor

Suffocating skin
Burning lungs
Ashen tongues

Never knew anything else
Surviving this life of hell is a curse, I beg for my doom
Wails carve the air as knives meet necks

Overcome by a creeping lethargy
Realise death was the point of it all

One person's will amounts to nought
On the global scale you're a dust mote in darkness
But human experience has never been on one person; it's defined by us all
With the power to define the world, mould life and death and pick the difference
Are we not responsible

The death of compassion is rife, and our meritocratic system backs the heartless
These lives of labour have ground us down to dust inside, with no hope at all
With no leaders to trust, when the cruelest thirsts of men are accepted
You yield, or you be your icon

Blood spilled in vain
For reasons mundane
Suffer to serve
Respect deserved

Inflictions patterns of pain
From which we abstain
A doctrine preserved
To safeguard your Icon

Copyright: O/B/O DistroKid
Writer(s): Charles Sloper