In the factory the Mother Machine makes love to steel and death.
One at the time, with mothers love, The Machine gives birth to the henchmen of death.
Each loved exactly the same amount.

Made from cold steel and microchips those grim reapers wander.
Seeking last remains among the anthill build from glass and concrete.

On the streets strong focused light cuts in the armor with ease and precision.
Weak flesh armed to the teeth is slowly dying, buying time for the fleeing Lemmings.

In the factory Mother smiles giving ****** births to the end of time.