We carry the disguised gift throughout the centuries Leaving behind a trail of tears and shame Through decaying souls that long for flesh and youth We're bound to stare into the abyss of our minds
They are imposters for all times Gone now, amused by our struggle They were strategic leaders And I can see their grinning faces
Some fools they were to charish us with such novelty Or were they masters of invention, imposters for all times? It's too late to lay it down, this instrument of danger Used in (the) dark ages, can you hear their distant laughter?
On the turn of another era, will it be our last? And if it's so, you can be sure that they've done their best Some day the race of leeches will only be a memory With all its arrogance, wiped out for good, wouldn't you agree?
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