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• Artiste: Beneath The Massacre
• Titre: Symptoms
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Progress under these terms is slow death. Chocking under your mass consumption. They're all symptoms of your fall. Your system is chocking and you with it. They're all symptoms of your fall. And you finally reached the limits. Limits imposed by its nature. And it's all futile to live under constant pressure of success and failure. We all saw it coming cause the past dictates the future. And we all saw it crash once before. The thought process seems to be defiant. Faith in a market and a market based on faith. A faith in an invisible hand. A hand stained with our blood. Your system is chocking and you with it. They're all symptoms of your fall. Progress is death. And death is progress. Your death; progress through your death. We all witness, on and on, your self proclaimed royalty. And kept it quiet, blinded by delusions, by your tricks and games while you bit the hand feeding you. We all witness your downfall, ambitious hopes crashing in a common grave, a common grave you designed. Your system is chocking, and you with it. They're all symptoms of your fall. Progress is death. Progress: your death. We'll all progress through your death.