|
I can see that torture |
|
Will be the only way |
|
To get the prisoner to talk |
|
Now morning breaks |
|
With a shattering scream |
|
As a razorblade removes the skin on his feet |
|
But still there's no reaction |
|
Denial is his first response |
|
Must intensity my actions? |
|
Skin him alive! |
|
Day two and the sessions start again |
|
The subjects pale and sleep deprived |
|
You can see his morale is broken |
|
And his sanity is frayed |
|
So I made him pray to a dog |
|
To gain a sense of humiliation |
|
And now I see reaction |
|
The confession darts to surface |
|
So I severed two of his fingers |
|
To speed up the process |
|
Emaciated cries of horror fill the hallways |
|
Mutilation of the subjects caused by torture |
|
Traumatizing effects that last forever |
|
Psychological decay |
|
The legacy of Pol Pot lives on |
|
In the minds of the tortured |
|
Haunted forever by the memories |
|
They're plagued for the rest of their lives |
|
Once a broken man, now a shell remains |
|
Of a tattered soul in pain |
|
Waiting to die |
|
The legacy of Pol Pot lives on |
|
In the minds of the tortured |
|
Haunted forever by the memories |
|
They're plagued for the rest of their lives |
|
Once a broken man, now a shell remains |
|
Of a tattered soul sentenced to live |
|
There's no limit to the pain |
|
Bring you back from the dead |
|
Force-fed feces |
|
Hanging upside down |
|
As you pray to the dog |
|
Suffocation near death |
|
Mock executions breaking you down |
|
Your confessions are in vain |
|
You don't even know the fucking names |
