What's it like to be free
Like laying in the middle of a wide open field
Still, mind haunts and head rots
There's a plague in the air
Silently taking over us
It affects all
weak, young, strong, old
A certain stride in your step while you decay
Brain in shambles yet you stay
At night those who rot feel their sickness spread
Lungs caving in and organs sick with rage
There's bile in your closing throat
Swallow it down, choke
Disguise your growing illness
Despite its universal despair
Quietly we fall
Clawing our way out of the grave
With one hand in hell already