The agonal stage of a hostile state is our pyrrhic fate The great serpent too eagerly choked on its tail The rattles from the throes of nations echo throughout time A token of our own conditioning We've seen the bodies, scorched and they're burning Their faces twisted and contorting Greasing the wheels of the machine We rot Empires depress, the house always wins With goring horns the monolith spreads We rot Salt the Earth, salt your homes Doomed to repeat, we reap what is sown We rot