Wind blowing through white washed catacombs
And I keep trudging in the sharp shot chill
Classrooms, Occupations, all fallow wombs
Glutton for life, your heart never fills

Why? They fashioned our dreams in to chains
Toiling in the belly of the citadel
Chuck your body in the pit, fuel the flame
We were all dead silent in Moloch’s spell

Where? Is there no way to leave this ache?
Though some men have escaped to death
Broken backs; sour hearts, does it mend or break?
When we leave them behind, we may find rest

Your pain is your pride; your pride is your pain
You collapse in to the churning pit; again