The agonal stage of a hostile state is our pyrrhic fate

The great serpent too eagerly choked on its tail

The rattles from the throes of nations echo throughout time

A token of our own conditioning

We've seen the bodies, scorched and they're burning

Their faces twisted and contorting

Greasing the wheels of the machine

We rot

Empires depress, the house always wins

With goring horns the monolith spreads

We rot

Salt the Earth, salt your homes

Doomed to repeat, we reap what is sown

We rot