Plagues

We are wretched self-indulgent psychopaths Riddled with ill intent and narcissistic tendencies Recovery is futile and the witching hour is here We can cover our faces and self seclude but nothing will ever suffice The ever growing threat to everyday lives Things will never be okay, this song remains the same We are the filth this world has slated; Scum from scum this has been belated Behold a pale horse: his name that sat on him was death You'll corrode from his putrid breath He brings forth the end For us all to fend For ourselves until We bend the nail that seals our coffins We kiss the black we can't stop this Things will never be ok, this song remains the same. Prepare the dirge for the funeral pyre The fire will burn & grow higher and higher No effigies, no obituaries