Feeding on eachother, the blood-letters.
Murdering their own mothers.
Blind to their own dark destruction,
finally remove all with a mass eruption.
This small passioned world, given to death.
Cause the child to cry and give his last breath.

And in their quest for fame,
among their wargames,
their world is covered in flame.
And while their world still turns,
it still burns...

Only reason to give birth,
is to increase economic worth.
Through the dissection of the child,
an unconcievable horror only considered mild.

And in our constant greed,
all we do is feed
on the death of our seed.
And while our world still turns,
it still burns...
it still burns.