| Over fields of molten rocks | |
| The sun is going blind | |
| Mental silence, poison dust | |
| The air is small and dry | |
| This is the wasteland | |
| The kingdom of rats | |
| This is the deadland | |
| Where sorrow for sorrow will cry | |
| Ratscoat and crowskin | |
| Shapes without form | |
| Paralyzed faces | |
| Their features are torn | |
| There are no eyes here | |
| There are no ears | |
| Only their brain | |
| Make 'em see, make 'em hear | |
| Helpin' each other | |
| They going astray | |
| And then an odd inner voice | |
| Start its say | |
| Why, why | |
| Violent science | |
| Guilty - you create the bomb | |
| You godforsaken fool | |
| Crave for agony | |
| Survival is your doom | |
| Why, why | |
| Violent science |
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