The air is murky and infested,
Could we run far, fast enough
Before we explode our lungs under the weight of the crown of death
Could we pray now, hard enough
Before we cough out life
And be carried away to the mass graves
To be dimly remembered among the many
Lost in history of and age
That witnessed the Coronation of corpses
While wearing burial masks
To keep away the smiles of death

Which is now more familiar to us
Than in yester times,
'tis no longer a favour
Reserved for those bent over
By the weight of years
We're all at risk
No signs of redemption
Only symptoms of contradiction
They say technology has no power
To banish the misery it has brought to us

So we run and lock ourselves inside
Only to find Sir Poverty and Lady Hunger
Waiting for us with a menu that reads;
Rules of staying indoors and eating and eating little
In idle feeble brittle fickle minds,
Conspiracy begins to breed.