Žodžiai dainai: If Man Is Five. Postcranial Debris.

I can remember as a child when it all seemed so like a game
Collect the stones inside my pocket, hear the noises that they made
But when my mother doesn't come home
and I realize I cast the first stone

FUCK

Oh God how could I?
Oh God what have I done?

The mob approaches with uncertainty in their eyes
All aware one of them will die

My childhood lay scattered among the postcranial debis
Dismembered, disarticulated, disappointment, disbelief

The tradition is a lie...

And all the shame, these sullied hands, the blood seeping into the soil
Oh God purge this stain from my soul, restore the innocence I've lost
For this I never can forgive myself
Drowning in my gene pool, will I sink or swim?

Oh God what have I become?
Oh God free my from this burden?

The mob approaches with rocks in their hands
All aware that the time has come

No one wins...