1. |
Intro
00:47
|
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|
Instrumental
|
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2. |
The Entrance
02:26
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|
(The) wedding of (old-aged) scotch's aroma,
(And) Cuban cigar's (vaporous) taste embalmed the room;
A business man informed his distinguished hosts
With details concerning their future risky plan.
(We'll be) hiding identity of our fresh shaving beards,
We’ll all proudly wear confortable (white) faceless masks,
And surrounding our fingertips with translucent tape.
Suits are the core of (every) professional thieves,
Nylon socks are just good for bad sex movies.
Suits are the core of (every) professional thieves,
Nylon socks are just good for bitches!
“My suitcase is filled with four pounds knock-down M4 rifle,
So lower your eyes and do everything I‘m gonna say!”
(We’ll be) storming the bank’s entrance, lashing guards with ty-wraps.
Women wear piano wire (as) a wonderful necklace,
And men will wet their pants; ties will lick the dirty tile floor.
Towards the luxury of perfect crime; we will proudly march.
Lower your eyes!
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3. |
Metastasized Structures
03:04
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|
Straight jacketed in this abstruse panoptical existence,
We’re condemned to self inflict vivisection.
Metastasized structures; we are enslaved!
(Cyclical) intervals of regressive evolution;
A (dysmorphic) pearl imploding within its shell;
(Putrescent scaphism.)
Metastasized structures; we are enslaved!
Mankind wallows into constant lateness,
Drastic upheavals intertwine since its genesis,
Slumbering within its own bereavement,
Embalmed in a recursive wretchedness.
Coerced to devour your own (gangrenous) flesh to survive;
Taste of fatality has never been so (delightfully) exquisite.
Hecatomb of sulphuric debris ignite your (lacerated) corpse,
Now beckon for deliverance as magma melts your face off.
Straight jacketed in this abstruse panoptical existence,
We’re condemned to self inflict vivisection.
Monumental nuclear blast wave,
Only atomic mushroom remains.
Ultimate dystopian end of mankind;
Monumental nuclear blast wave,
Bodies sludge invades the atmosphere,
Only atomic mushroom remains...
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4. |
Brutalicious
02:45
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|
I’m this man who wrote the lines of your funeral dirge,
The one who gratify your widow’s sexual urge.
(A) prevailin’ aspiration (as) kaleidoscopic paradigm.
Maestro slices sound treachery from every angle,
Another song found with underwear at its ankles.
Diamonds shine bright on my grills,
Witness the power of my skills!
Rolling out the red carpet bombing...
Like did terrorist Tim McVeigh,
I’m pressin’ the detonator,
“BANG!” in a slow motion replay,
You’ll see life on fast-forward.
Kneel down before your majesty!
I would like to detach your spine
Just to see you collapse like a heap of shit.
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