the echo of the mad machine warns us of yet another hell sounds that are yet wholly unclean suppress the organ and the bell what older folk would not have seen cannot be hidden by a spell the angry monsters do not preen we do not hear the victim yell
a terror that comes in deep night is not the one we should have known the words that will each spirit fright tell us that justice has long flown the chance of honour is but slight the crocodile's now fully grown ancestral deaths it must requite and into desert turn the sown
shadow of choices we've not made a fear that life has passed us by the endless armies on parade the television's booming lie we are seduced to be afraid of screaming death from hateful sky the ones who could not make the grade now look on us with horrid eye
there is no longer healing rain behind the clouds the sun's quite cold we can no longer see things plain we are too fearful to be bold demons occupy the terrain our spirits now have become old all we can feel is endless pain
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