Plagues

We are wretched self-indulgent psychopaths
Riddled with ill intent and narcissistic tendencies

Recovery is futile and the witching hour is here
We can cover our faces and self seclude but nothing will ever suffice
The ever growing threat to everyday lives
Things will never be okay, this song remains the same

We are the filth this world has slated;
Scum from scum this has been belated
Behold a pale horse: his name that sat on him was death

You'll corrode from his putrid breath
He brings forth the end
For us all to fend
For ourselves until
We bend the nail that seals our coffins
We kiss the black we can't stop this
Things will never be ok, this song remains the same.

Prepare the dirge for the funeral pyre
The fire will burn & grow higher and higher
No effigies, no obituaries