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• Artiste: Zao
• Titre: A Well-Intentioned Virus
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Anger casts shadows of doubt Inviting them in has hollowed you out The purest disgust one can ever feel It lives in our voice, it guides our eyes It's forcing us to realize We're born from the fear, the fear of death Proven designs crush weakened minds Exceptions to the rule and anomalies Stir up violence with silver spoons Cries of persecution From the persecutor's tongue The medium agitates the hive Frothing hordes of true believers You are right, yes you are right You have been chosen to ruin countless heathen lives Our path of sight through perception is soiled As our sanity turns spoiled Commands sent down by light and sound Imaginary generals lie tired from the war They will become what they abhor A well-intentioned virus posing as a cure