Из альбома: Death in the Nursery
Running forever in circles of hate, clinical bars keep us tight
Hoping for fools to unleash us in haste, to prove to the world of their might
Created to kill in obscene trails of pain, to blot out the source of the light
A subtle but deadly supply on the wind, it gives them no reason to fight
The island of death where we wait in the dark, injected with droplets of pain
Lies quietly watching the homeland of fools, soon to revenge it's disdain