Brumaire

Though you lived your life

In front of names of old, rearing horses lie

That workers aren't blindfold

Events don't know man, for they don't have a soul

Produce accidents, substance takes it's toll

Brumaire's guise, Brumaire denies

Give us the land who loves command, growing rate is soul incarnate

Bleed the skull from culture

That repeats farce so pure

That you're bored of

Alphabet lives, who just describe

Vertical worlds with hierarchical words yet talk sticks in my teeth

Brumaire's up eighteenth

Take the bow now

Though you're made from dust, elusive grandeur calls. Amputate ornate

The ideal always stalls

Brumaire's guise, Brumaire denies

Give us the land who loves command, growing rate is soul incarnate

Bleed the skull from culture

That repeats farce so pure

That you're bored of

Alphabet lives, who just describe

Vertical worlds with hierarchical words yet talk sticks in my teeth

Brumaire's up eighteenth

Take the bow now