There was a devastating wave
Above the pool of red sludge
Made of sharp carpenter's nails
Rising against the black skies
Metal flung around the landscape
Like flecks of paint on a canvas
A manifestation of mechanical death
The future gets swallowed
With a cold efficiency,
The present starts to mourn
Ruthless indeterminacy.
In times of bloodshed,
There aren't any victors.
There was a devastating wave
Above the pool of red sludge
Made of sharp carpenter's nails
Rising against the black skies
Metal flung around the landscape
Like flecks of paint on a canvas
A manifestation of mechanical death
The future gets swallowed
With a cold efficiency,
The present starts to mourn
Ruthless indeterminacy.
In times of bloodshed,
There aren't any victors.
There was a devastating wave
Above the pool of red sludge
Made of sharp carpenter's nails
Rising against the black skies
Metal flung around the landscape
Like flecks of paint on a canvas
A manifestation of mechanical death
The future gets swallowed
With a cold efficiency,
The present starts to mourn
Ruthless indeterminacy.
In times of bloodshed,
There aren't any victors.
There was a devastating wave
Above the pool of red sludge
Made of sharp carpenter's nails
Rising against the black skies
Metal flung around the landscape
Like flecks of paint on a canvas
A manifestation of mechanical death
The future gets swallowed
With a cold efficiency,
The present starts to mourn
Ruthless indeterminacy.
In times of bloodshed,
There aren't any victors.
If an immortal ant took a step
Through a straight line in outer space
Every pair of a million years
Until its legs reached Venus
And took a singular piece of it
Then brought it back home all over again
Until there's nothing left to pick up
Would that tiny snapshot of a thought
Be enough to describe a fraction
Of an existence's destination?
If an immortal ant took a step
Through a straight line in outer space
Every pair of a million years
Until its legs reached Venus
And took a singular piece of it
Then brought it back home all over again
Until there's nothing left to pick up
Would that tiny snapshot of a thought
Be enough to describe a fraction
Of an existence's destination?
If an immortal ant took a step
Through a straight line in outer space
Every pair of a million years
Until its legs reached Venus
And took a singular piece of it
Then brought it back home all over again
Until there's nothing left to pick up
Would that tiny snapshot of a thought
Be enough to describe a fraction
Of an existence's destination?
If an immortal ant took a step
Through a straight line in outer space
Every pair of a million years
Until its legs reached Venus
And took a singular piece of it
Then brought it back home all over again
Until there's nothing left to pick up
Would that tiny snapshot of a thought
Be enough to describe a fraction
Of an existence's destination?