Sons, weep in mothers arms
To the breast are clinging
From that clutch, by fathers torn
And thrust into the blazing fields
Cheeks still wet with cherubs tears
Across earth unscarred
Heavy blades are drawn
Gouges, fathoms deep
Well with blood
Father's seed, Mother's seed
Seeds of war, seeds of lust
Tears of pain
Seem as joyous rapture
We claw, we point
At mutilated loins
Faces pushed into the soil, we are cleansed
We are cleansed
In the clutch of oblivion
