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Lack-lustre vacuum magnetises the land, scopeless material in ruthless demand, concrete spectacle superficially grand, divine animation buried in sight. [Chorus:] |
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We'll rise from the ashes of stagnation, crystal warriors of damnation. |
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Nullified grafters manufactured from the womb, out of the repro-clinic into household tomb. |
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Drag the nothing tiring through coal-dark underground, drive the wheels of iron round and round. [Repeat Chorus] |
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Scouring eyes sear through that book of lies, and to the truth, well our search is dignified. |
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Whilst the yawny drone of physical machinery march in robot mode to terminal destiny. |
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Microscopic observance, forsaken innerland, spiritual inertia, absorbed in bland, well our significance shan't sink in their charade, 'cos through their drab pantomime |
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I say we're gonna ride! [Repeat Chorus.] |
