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Black Mammoth
Fit for An Autopsy


Fools gold, siphoned and sold, merchants of death.
Dead in spirit, now dead in flesh.
Born of violent flames, landscapes of ashes. The roots soak up the rain, burning in acid.
The wounds are cauterized, and left unbandaged. Wilting beneath a sun, withered and damaged.

Tragedy reigns forever.

Rejoice in masses. The tribe collapses. The mother weeps in her dying breath.
Rise from the ashes, oh foul Black Mammoth. Dead in spirit, now dead in flesh.

Tread on sacred terrain, envenomed and ravaged. The peace upon the plains, seized by the savage.
Primitive practices, uproot and vanish. Modern barbarians, new rite of passage
Rejoice in masses. The tribe collapses. The mother weeps in her dying breath.
Rise from the ashes, oh foul Black Mammoth. Dead in spirit, now dead in flesh.

Tragedy reigns forever.

Fit for An Autopsy

 




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