Из альбома: Still Life

Still blindly we plunge into the web again
Our hands still soaked with blood soiled straight through to the skin
Turned the soil still wet from last time's shallow graves,
we remain entangled in this web of war we've made
1999 turned about reads triple 6, but do you pale at the slightest hint of coincidence?
If so you're bound to play a part in all our destruction
If we believe the myths we create then we are bound to live them
Still many of us, sick and twisted, eagerly await our turn to die
We sit obedient after each atrocity, too desensitized to even cry
We are bound to what we so foolishly inspected
Others ensnared by chance into the trap others have erected
Are we bound to this vicious cycle of agression
and then vengeance by some uncontrollable flaw in our natural human condition?
If we are but wild animals acting on some instinctual competition
then why is it leading us onward toward our assured extinction?
No, this web of war is not a part of nature's vast creation,
but the product of mankind's fear of self and his infatuation
with dominance and destruction and the conquest of all,
he fears himself therefore he will destroy himself in the end

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