Lacklustre vacuum magnetises the land, scopeless material in ruthless demand, concrete spectacle superficially grand, divine animation buried in sight. Well rise from the ashes of stagnation, crystal warriors of damnation. Nullified grafters manufactured from the womb, out of the reproclinic into household tomb. Drag the nothing tiring through coaldark underground, drive the wheels of iron round and round. Scouring eyes sear through that book of lies, and to the truth, well our search is dignified. Whilst the yawny drone of physical machinery march in robot mode to terminal destiny. Microscopic observance, forsaken innerland, spiritual inertia, absorbed in bland, well our significance shant sink in their charade, cos through their drab pantomime I say were gonna ride!
reproclinic, scopeless, grafters, coaldark, yawny