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In Death...
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The Living Dead
When you're born, begin to die
An island, not only inside me, but embodies
The most pitiful of existential apathy. It surrounds me
A prison, without any boundaries. No chains to hold me
Guarded not by lock and key, but by the disease
Disposable
The value of existence, tumbles further every day
But still the price we pay, to stay this way
Exile
Imparting freedom onto me, to bite the hand that feeds
To cut the throat that bleeds, sow the demon seeds
Demonic
Possession
Been substituted for
Deficit of attention
Progression
One step forward, one step back, all in the very same motion
Perish the notion, but show no emotion
Compassion, has become
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A demotion of a former devotion
Already set in motion
What kills a piece of us can be
What makes a human tick
The antidote to cleanse the soul
Can make the body sick
A time to live, a time to die
Transform into the same
This prison of indifference
And we're the ones to blame
We are the living dead, we are the living What kills a piece of us can be
What makes a human tick
The antidote to cleanse the soul
Can make the body sick
A time to live, a time to die
Transform into the same
This prison of indifference
And we're the ones to blame
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