This is a fading trace of reality
Distorted lines of freedom
Where the mediocre man prevails
Absolute flattery of equality
Like the procession of the hearse
Slowly leading the lamenting mob
To the burial of existence
Industrie des fleisches
Schlachthaus der Gedanken
No more traces of reality
It fears, it cries, it hopes, it loves
That little sphere filled with fragile life
Already crawling into death row
Industrie des fleisches
Schlachthaus der Gedanken
When followers drown into non-self
Irradiated by constriction of mind
A grandiose self arises to stand and refuse
The innocence of his peers mangles his deep ego
Cracking like whips on flesh
Altering his senses until all humanity is gone
Perceptions are swirling - visions darkened
And as lucidity vanishes - anger is soon in control
This outburst of violence - pure and devoid of reason
Takes hold of a new reality
He reigns
They fall
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