Nothing Is Coming For Any Of Us

Whitechapel

Compositor: Não Disponível

Virtuous
Peeling the virtuous rind of impurity
Seeded and depleted of morality's code
Fertilize
Tainted but fertile, braindead but still verbal
Creation from lust is a goddamn rush

A diabolical stare into the gateway of sin
I can smell the sweet stench flow from deep within
So I dig and dig
I tear the fleshy walls
Deeper and deeper, objection falls weaker
Arrogance encased in flesh
I open the door to humanity's nest
Staring back at me I see the God that shouldn't bleed
But he's wrapped in bloody sheets, an abomination of me

I recede and hang it by its feet
It won't stop crying and whining
Shut the fuck up
How could I expect a rebirth when my father left me a fucking whore?
Don't you speak, don't say a fucking word
You will watch our boy suffocate
As I'm beginning to strangle him
Watch his soul leave his cold, dead eyes

The final gasp of air dissolves as Father Time meets himself
And starts to devolve, he reveals that nothing is real
The universe beckons to sleep
Nothing is real, nothing is coming for any of us

Cry out for God and beg for the end
No one can hear you scream, no one is coming for you
No one is coming for you

Nothing is real