They

They offer us the blades that tear with pleasure our flesh

And every strife carves their influence on our minds

We live with this suffering a fall into depression

The self-mutilation pushes us towards the meaning of our beings

They decrease us all the time until we reach the state of shit

And every word molest our faces into wounds

We take all verbal injuries and keep them inside

The inner rottenness feed the ulcer, bleeding fear

They die, one after one cause this is all they deserve

And the smell of powder mixed to their blood is intoxicating

We bear the guns and load the bullets blasting their heads

We're children of Despair and priest of negation

We are them

We are them

We are them

We offer your blades and break your minds

We load your guns and press the relaxation, fuck yeah

We are them

We are them

We are them

And command your death