Black abysmal hole
Crusted walls
Sodden floor
Suffocating skin
Burning lungs
Ashen tongues
Never knew anything else
Surviving this life of hell is a curse, I beg for my doom
Wails carve the air as knives meet necks
Overcome by a creeping lethargy
Realise death was the point of it all
One person's will amounts to nought
On the global scale you're a dust mote in darkness
But human experience has never been on one person; it's defined by us all
With the power to define the world, mould life and death and pick the difference
Are we not responsible
The death of compassion is rife, and our meritocratic system backs the heartless
These lives of labour have ground us down to dust inside, with no hope at all
With no leaders to trust, when the cruelest thirsts of men are accepted
You yield, or you be your icon
Blood spilled in vain
For reasons mundane
Suffer to serve
Respect deserved
Inflictions patterns of pain
From which we abstain
A doctrine preserved
To safeguard your Icon
Ill in Pain - Icon Lyrics
Ill in Pain - Icon Lyrics
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Black abysmal hole
Crusted walls
Sodden floor
Suffocating skin
Burning lungs
Ashen tongues
Never knew anything else
Surviving this life of hell is a curse, I beg for my doom
Wails carve the air as knives meet necks
Overcome by a creeping lethargy
Realise death was the point of it all
One person's will amounts to nought
On the global scale you're a dust mote in darkness
But human experience has never been on one person; it's defined by us all
With the power to define the world, mould life and death and pick the difference
Are we not responsible
The death of compassion is rife, and our meritocratic system backs the heartless
These lives of labour have ground us down to dust inside, with no hope at all
With no leaders to trust, when the cruelest thirsts of men are accepted
You yield, or you be your icon
Blood spilled in vain
For reasons mundane
Suffer to serve
Respect deserved
Inflictions patterns of pain
From which we abstain
A doctrine preserved
To safeguard your Icon
Crusted walls
Sodden floor
Suffocating skin
Burning lungs
Ashen tongues
Never knew anything else
Surviving this life of hell is a curse, I beg for my doom
Wails carve the air as knives meet necks
Overcome by a creeping lethargy
Realise death was the point of it all
One person's will amounts to nought
On the global scale you're a dust mote in darkness
But human experience has never been on one person; it's defined by us all
With the power to define the world, mould life and death and pick the difference
Are we not responsible
The death of compassion is rife, and our meritocratic system backs the heartless
These lives of labour have ground us down to dust inside, with no hope at all
With no leaders to trust, when the cruelest thirsts of men are accepted
You yield, or you be your icon
Blood spilled in vain
For reasons mundane
Suffer to serve
Respect deserved
Inflictions patterns of pain
From which we abstain
A doctrine preserved
To safeguard your Icon
Writer: Charles Sloper
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid