Sear the guilt throbbing in our
heads, now we sleep in our blood
beds Rid ourselves of God, the
crutch, our broken legs don't hurt
so much

Reaching forward, falling back, the
more we progress, the more we lack

At Nagasaki we built a sun right on
the ground At least we won Use
the pretty, lose the rest, it's evolution
at its best

Lay in beds of anger, talking in our
sleep Mumble words of vengeance,
songs of world peace

The incense of our progress is the
burning of the weak The wound is
self-inflicted even as we speak!