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The Nothing That Is

de Fit For An Autopsy

This is evolution crashing down
We held the Sun in our hands
We should’ve been our own gods
Heaven is lost to the sands

Our sanctuary is gone
Chaos begins, in small oblivions
Where bone collectors heave
Souls into cemeteries

We are the anchor built to sink
Through polluted seas
Monuments of thieves rise from seeds of discontent
Destroy the tribes
Bring pestilence

Defense irrelevant
The tipping point that came and went
We are the ruinous roaches
A failed experiment
The threat of the rising tide

Grows stronger
A promise it’ll never die
Our time is no longer

The nothing that is
The nothing that we become
We dance with the devils
We worship the fallen sons
The nothing that was
The nothing that we will be

A cycle of loss
We welcome the tragedy
Erase
Paradise lost to the plague
The cancer of fate

To bury the world we betray
Knives
That pierce through the heart
Of the foulest creature
Now placed upon your neck

Cowards
Deserve a cowards death
This is evolution
The blood will reset the sin

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