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• Artiste: Hocico
• Titre: The Shape Of Things To Come
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into the realms of hate into the realms of war no we're not dreaming now try to run away as fast as you can outside these grounds of hell a burning world consumes the flames are everywhere their eyes full of pain once fiction was our dream now fiction is our hell we shaped our glorious end as world comes crashing down no more screams are heard no we're not dreaming everything here has changed everything is destroyed the fiction becomes truth wish there was a reason to stop this madness you go keep tasting your own decadence bloody times, no one can talk a glorious suicide to end up alone nobody escapes what we've done in this bloody wasted place and certain things remain untold deep in ourselves a twisted soul and that's the shape of things to come we try to change it but it's too late now we're just living annihilate and that's the shape of things to come