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Black abysmal hole Crusted walls Sodden floor Suffocating skin Burning lungs Ashen tongues Never knew anything else Surviving this life of hell is a curse, I beg for my doom Wails carve the air as knives meet necks Overcome by a creeping lethargy Realise death was the point of it all One person's will amounts to nought On the global scale you're a dust mote in darkness But human experience has never been on one person; it's defined by us all With the power to define the world, mould life and death and pick the difference Are we not responsible The death of compassion is rife, and our meritocratic system backs the heartless These lives of labour have ground us down to dust inside, with no hope at all With no leaders to trust, when the cruelest thirsts of men are accepted You yield, or you be your icon Blood spilled in vain For reasons mundane Suffer to serve Respect deserved Inflictions patterns of pain From which we abstain A doctrine preserved To safeguard your Icon