Pandora

Open pandora.
Violent twitching towards the closing void.
Through a maze of tortured pines, where life withers as one.
Broken kin, broken kind.
All who tread through the oil-soaked sea deserve the fate of the sinking sky.
Our time here is not long.
Broken kin, broken kind.
Hide your hells in the dirt, where the dead define you.
Hide your hells here on earth, where death will find you.
Open pandora.
The curse of coercion. Two sides of a horrid mask.
Distorted dependance. Loyalists to the falsest flags.
Wet work on the wasteland. White washing the rubble.
It’s never “too many graves.”
It’s always “not enough shovels.”
Stand in the eye of the storm.
All is calm but then comes the killing.
Open pandora.
Too many graves, not enough shovels.
It’s never “too many graves.”
It’s always “not enough shovels.”
Hide your hells in the dirt, where the dead define you.
Hide your hells here on earth, where death will find you.
Turbines shriek in smokestack sermons.
True call to nature, the mortal burden.
The mother sleeps in the blood of the future.
The dead define you, now death will find you.
A world driven by extinction, only ends in extinction.
Death will find you.