| You awake to the putrid stench of decomposing flesh | |
| Welcome to oblivion | |
| Do not pray, for salvation won't come | |
| Your savior does not dwell in this place | |
| So turn your back on your faith | |
| It only further holds you captive | |
| You are the bastard dying children of this race | |
| Turn your back on all faith | |
| A desensitized state of consciousness disables every attempt to recall your origin | |
| The sight and pungence of scorched human remnants foreshadow the purpose of containment | |
| Showing symptoms of the afflicted ones, you're forcibly secluded from the general populous | |
| Restrained, sedated, and internally tested | |
| Archaic instruments have penetrated flesh | |
| Painfully extracting blood in search of virulent, crimson spray stains the walls | |
| Their draining torture device induces seizure | |
| Vital signs are weakened | |
| Sickness flows from every artery | |
| There is no hope of survival for the diseased | |
| You are the bastard dying children of this race | |
| Condemned and left in quarantine | |
| There is no hope for survival | |
| Sickness flows from every artery | |
| Embrace oblivion | |
| You are the bastard dying children of this race. |
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