Strike Master
death will be what kills us
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Things are turning for the worst
Death is what killed our unborn child
We don't chose or day of birth, neither choose our way of dying
Escaping from reality to fade in to oblivion
Things are turning for the worst
Worse than casket needs a corpse
Disillusion´s automatic, massive graves grow systematic
Fighting against nature not to be another helpless outcast
Death, death will be what kill´s us
Death, death will be what kill´s us
Death, death will be what kill´s us
Death, death will be what kill´s us
Things are turning to an end
Delivering a good looking corpse
Accepting finalization, taking it as compensation
We were dead since our very embryonic transformation!