I see the ruins languishing in loneliness
You won't be killed by a blazing thunder
But you'll die under your own weight
And earth won't acceot
The suicidal human tom
But will spit on it's bones
Greato hour An hour of creation
And no prohet will pluck up his courage
To call us in grief and fear
Implant the power of inspiration
In the new shapes
Make use of your strength
Thus your own thoughts
And be aware that hard days are coming
I give the weak a look of contempt
The suicidal human tom
But will spit on it's bones