The fiction is that we'll get
Through this mess,
That we somehow distress ourselves.
Everybody knows,
Hope turns to cynicism.
Were helpless more and more.
Apocalypse,
Timer set to 5-minute warning running out.
Sky shooting stars,
Wish before they hit the ground.
No speed limits,
We'll get there before noon,
To shape a nice new moon.
No need to fear,
No time to feel or regret,
Indeed we were mislead...
Apocalypse,
Timer set to 5-minute warning running out.
Make it right this time...
Raining dead poetry,
(It) started raining dead poetry...
This lyric was posted anonymously. Not yet confirmed by Book of Metal.
