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