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