Serpent Eve by Cathedral
Lack-lustre vacuum magnetises the land, scopeless material in ruthless demand, concrete
spectacle superficially grand, divine animation buried in sand.
WeÂ¹ll rise from the ashes of stagnation, crystal warriors of damnation.
Nullified grafters manufactured from the womb, out of the repro-clinic into household tomb.
Drag the nothing tiring through coal-dark underground, drive the wheels of iron round and
Scouring eyes sear through that book of lies, and to the truth, well our search is dignified.
Whilst the yawny drone of physical machinery march in robot mode to terminal destiny.
Microscopic observance, forsaken innerland, spiritual inertia, absorbed in blanc, well our
significance shanÂ¹t sink in their charade, Rcos through their drab pantomine I say weÂ¹re
gonna ride !