| A rumble in distance mechanical whine | |
| So our lights can shine scrape off the epidermis | |
| Robbing pillars equivalent to graves | |
| Tear down the walls faces ripped from their jaws | |
| Black damp inhalers | |
| We incarcerate ourselves in clay filled veins | |
| The hollow drain which echoes our pain | |
| Their is no sweeter sound | |
| Than the song of a dead canary | |
| Sin Remover | |
| Burn away slag | |
| We bare silicosis the fruits of our perseverance | |
| Bleeder entries are packed with intestines | |
| Holds back the dream till it discharges like a gun | |
| Sin Remover | |
| I am the Zion... | |
| Extract our blood | |
| We bleed of black | |
| Reclamation | |
| Shapes the face to a graven image | |
| See the lies | |
| We mend our seams | |
| As days go by | |
| On wounded knees I see you pray for me |
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