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We carry the disguised gift throughout the centuries |
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Leaving behind a trail of tears and shame |
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Through decaying souls that long for flesh and youth |
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We're bound to stare into the abyss of our minds |
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They are imposters for all times |
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Gone now, amused by our struggle |
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They were strategic leaders |
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And I can see their grinning faces |
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Some fools they were to charish us with such novelty |
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Or were they masters of invention, imposters for all times? |
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It's too late to lay it down, this instrument of danger |
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Used in (the) dark ages, can you hear their distant laughter? |
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On the turn of another era, will it be our last? |
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And if it's so, you can be sure that they've done their best |
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Some day the race of leeches will only be a memory |
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With all its arrogance, wiped out for good, wouldn't you agree? |
