Из альбома: Breeding the Spawn
The beginning of sorrow has come.
You cannot build but can destroy with what is left on earth.
Damage, now permanent, is yet enhanced day by day by unstoppable greed.
You are never truly happy unless one suffers more than yourself.
The choice is none, you will live in a world where you must fight a battle.
Some weaker, some stronger, in termination we'll die as one.
We fight amongst ourselves, enhanced by racial difference.
Our hatred never to diminish, it's just growing and growing 'till
out day of release.
We race towards the years of tribulation, where wars, plagues and
the antichrist.
What is the antichrist?
What is it's form?
Questions still asked yet unanswered.
No need for answers, with it's arrival brings sorrow, a sorrow soon
dealt upon all.
Perhaps it's a pestilence in a form of virus spreading in it's own
epidemic.
Perhaps it is famine killing off millions.
Does this happen 'cause we lack enough food.
One man's greed affects others less privileged, a cruel form of
population control.
Why does this happen?
It is predestined fate not open for reason or change.
It's all been predicted, we'll die in vast numbers of a sickness
that has no known cure.
We'll play the unknowing yet all are aware tribulation is here now
for sure.