Музыкана peoples.ru


Inconceivable it is that somewhere on earth a land exists

untouched by civilization's hand. Try as we might to peer

through the folds of the death grip. The overwhelming

human tide surging forward smothering everything that

our twisted minds cannot justify as worthy enough

to take a place in this lie we call progress.

Scourge! Scourge! Scourge! Scourge!

Unwilling to let in the sun unable to escape what's been

done and our towers built like open wounds on the land

that as each day passes begins to more and more resemble

a vision of hell I had as a child and the droning sounds

of progress begin to resemble more and more

the coming of an endless locust swarm.

Swarm /

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