VI. Song Of Prostration And Introversion (5. Bloody Shit)

VI. Song Of Prostration And Introversion (5. Bloody Shit)
You - with no sense 
Just waste of means 
Machine with potential 
Running free 

You - with no taste 
Dull flesh with bones 
Squeezing the mind 
Being at wit's end 

Down! Coming down! Bloody shit! What kind! 

You - with no gracefulness 
Soaked all the negative 
Yet only dignity 
Which for centuries wait 

Down! Coming down! Bloody shit! What kind! 

What kind of bloody shit coming down!?