We'll rise up to the sky
on the smoke of the sirens.
Countless amongst the stars
of the footpath's shattered glass,
put our troubles on the fire
and they'll burn like books.
We'll dance to the tattoo
of a thousand erratic hearts,
the drumming of heels.
And polyrhythmic punches.
Building's flame's dart
across the angels of mask.
a**imilation of the will.
Anonymous.
One flicker in inferno.
Finally a clean slate
underneath all the bruising.
Razed to the ground.
Tabula Rasa.
We'll riot in the flicker
of a hanged man's heels,
the clatter of nails
and spasms of tongue.
Building's flame's dart
across the angels of mask.
a**imilation.
An ember in the fury.
Crystallized, reduced.
One mask among many.
Obliterate's dissolve
in a ritual of flame.
One flame in inferno.
Simplified, reduced.
One mask among many.
An ember in the fury.
In a ritual of flame.
We'll burrow into the earth
and drown in the soil.
Drunken among the stones
we'll dig our own grave.
Melt the shackles from our wrists
in a furnace of fists.
A flare of faceless dilettantes.
A cabal without direction.
Remember, remember.
(Our features all identi-kit.)
The fifth of november
a plot with a f****** reason.
A feeling of omnipotence
in the symmetry of violence.
But it binds our mouths
and pulls our teeth.
We'll skitter in the wind
in the ill winds of stasis.
Formless in the melee
of a contemptuous mass.
We are not, and will never.
We'll dance to the tattoo
of a thousand erratic hearts,
the drumming of heels.
And polyrhythmic punches.
Building's flame's dart
across the angels of mask.
a**imilation of the will.
An ember in the fury.
Crystallized, reduced.
One mask among many.
Obliterate's dissolve
in a ritual of flame.
One flicker in the arc.
Simplified, reduced.
One mask among many.
An ember in the fury.
In a ritual of flame.
on the smoke of the sirens.
Countless amongst the stars
of the footpath's shattered glass,
put our troubles on the fire
and they'll burn like books.
We'll dance to the tattoo
of a thousand erratic hearts,
the drumming of heels.
And polyrhythmic punches.
Building's flame's dart
across the angels of mask.
a**imilation of the will.
Anonymous.
One flicker in inferno.
Finally a clean slate
underneath all the bruising.
Razed to the ground.
Tabula Rasa.
We'll riot in the flicker
of a hanged man's heels,
the clatter of nails
and spasms of tongue.
Building's flame's dart
across the angels of mask.
a**imilation.
An ember in the fury.
Crystallized, reduced.
One mask among many.
Obliterate's dissolve
in a ritual of flame.
One flame in inferno.
Simplified, reduced.
One mask among many.
An ember in the fury.
In a ritual of flame.
We'll burrow into the earth
and drown in the soil.
Drunken among the stones
we'll dig our own grave.
Melt the shackles from our wrists
in a furnace of fists.
A flare of faceless dilettantes.
A cabal without direction.
Remember, remember.
(Our features all identi-kit.)
The fifth of november
a plot with a f****** reason.
A feeling of omnipotence
in the symmetry of violence.
But it binds our mouths
and pulls our teeth.
We'll skitter in the wind
in the ill winds of stasis.
Formless in the melee
of a contemptuous mass.
We are not, and will never.
We'll dance to the tattoo
of a thousand erratic hearts,
the drumming of heels.
And polyrhythmic punches.
Building's flame's dart
across the angels of mask.
a**imilation of the will.
An ember in the fury.
Crystallized, reduced.
One mask among many.
Obliterate's dissolve
in a ritual of flame.
One flicker in the arc.
Simplified, reduced.
One mask among many.
An ember in the fury.
In a ritual of flame.