Woorden:
I Am Abomination To Our Forefathers

We pull the strings, Yet, we're in a world left heartless. We live alone, We hold our ground, Yet, we're in a room left artless. Lets wrap our roots

We never would have thought that we were dead. We were torn limb from limb. Let this be known as our battle-hymn. Our spirits rise from our shattered

Harvest the cancer, fill the sphere to the brim. It's overflowing with the thought of another. Don't fall out of line, you may find yourself floating

my face before you rid me of my hands Pry out my eyes and I'll be all ears I won't be the surgeons new canvas Nor will I be the producers new plan This