When the last of man's machines have failed
And the orphaned children of the bomb do wail
With the pain from oozing open sores
And the God given knowledge that this land once was pure
Have you seen the moon lately?
Does she not look sick?
Has the cancer got her too?
When death himself is bed-ridden
And suicide reigns king
All eagerly seek his blanket
To make th epain stop
And time never moves so slow as it does in the hours
Waiting for his response
Worms shall feed, swing the sickle
The fearless crow will caw
The soul has absolutely no significance
When even hell refuses to acknowledge its existence
Graves no longer let their tenants rest
And evict all
Know my disease
It is living
Know the name, sing his praise
Satan is winning
