| The filth of our underlings | |
| Shall never nourish me completely | |
| Our knowledge is bending our brainwaves congealing | |
| Force feed the piety that humans are bleeding | |
| Silk purse from a sows ear is what I'm knitting | |
| Nourishing off the fat of our rendering | |
| Hail to our underlings | |
| Our destinies embraced | |
| Surrender unto abysmal weight | |
| Hail to our underlings | |
| Toiling away | |
| Collapsing into a servile state | |
| Mouth of komodo shall harbour our healing | |
| Poisons the serum as our sores are revealing | |
| Hang nerves out to dry to dampen the feeling | |
| Rendering for self-symbiotic feeding | |
| Hail to our underlings | |
| Who knows not to fight | |
| Peel back the scabs to blind them all with light | |
| The filth of our underlings | |
| Shall never nourish me completely |
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