An Axe to Grind Songtext
von Dyscarnate

Insatiable lust for a further deprivation, an exquisite death for those few disgraced.
Lashed to the olive branch - dribbling fraudulent compassion.
Snatching money for old rope (ripped from round their necks), giving no quarter to a witness sincerity.
The Mask - will not be consumed.
The masses swallow gibberish - sermon after sermon; it takes experience to lecture moronity.
Extracting decency to invade with a drug from those devious minds long morally bankrupt.
This is the ironic lie.
Cultures piled high and razed without repentance.
The air becomes hard to breathe.
Saving face from the daunting inferno.
The mask - will not melt.
Is this really distinction, or inconsistent recognition?
Would a handful of corpses satisfy the need of millions? Cretins observe their subordinates and laugh.
With converse optics the truth would be revealed, a circle of enlightenment finally fulfilled.
These cosmetics seem more than external.
Screens become the mirror - perverse sense of humor.
Recycling the formula - the ulterior motive.
Genetic engineering with a sinister intent .
Chemical diffusion - contaminating air.
Twisted reflections starring mutants who amuse.
This cross section is riddled with scum.
Exaggerating imperfections - the mirror is perverse.
These cosmetics are more than external.
A greed for sleep so exquisite - so deserved of the disgraced.