| They began to scourge me at the pillars
|
| Tools ripping away at my flesh
|
| The figures have abruptly become killers
|
| And my memory starts to refresh
|
| The holy hands of the sky
|
| The architects of life
|
| Brought me back as I began to die
|
| The wrath of the gods, unleashed upon me Through my wrist they place their pins
|
| Their blackened eyes are filled with intent
|
| How can I speak or resist? |
| My body’s in paralysis
|
| These surgeons are artists, my body is canvas
|
| The needles make my skin peel
|
| This cannot be This isn’t real
|
| This is the pain of a million deaths
|
| My anatomy is the theatre of war
|
| I am the witness of catastrophe, catastrophe
|
| The holy hands of the sky
|
| The architects of life
|
| Brought me back as I began to die
|
| The wrath of the gods, unleashed upon me Through my wrist they place their pins
|
| Their blackened eyes are filled with intent
|
| How can I speak or resist? |
| My body’s in paralysis
|
| These surgeons are artists, my body is canvas
|
| The needles make my skin peel
|
| This cannot be This isn’t real
|
| My structure is shattered, it lies in ruin, lies in ruin
|
| My body is gone, but I’m still alive
|
| They are the artists
|
| The sole creators
|
| (The wrath of the gods, unleashed upon me Through my wrist they place their pins
|
| Their blackened eyes are filled with intent)
|
| The wrath of the gods, unleashed upon me Through my wrist they place their pins
|
| Their blackened eyes are filled with intent
|
| How can I speak or resist? |
| My body’s in paralysis
|
| These surgeons are artists, my body is canvas
|
| The needles make my skin peel
|
| This cannot be |