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The Last Dying Flame

de Synapsyche

Saving all I could save
Backup, restore, upload, refill
Now I could catch paradise
With a skyscraper of dollar bills

The knife which you cut with is mine
The rope and the chair, the razorblade
The bullet in your head's enemy is mine
Everything is mine

The fault of your downfalls is mine
TV, web, press, government, finance
The foul air that you inhale is mine
You can be mine too

Empty, empty
I can’t stop emptying your souls
Now filled with oblivion
Guilty, guilty
Do you feel guilty tô know
That mankind’s my throne tô sit on?

Empty, empty
I can’t help emptying your souls
I’m filled with dominion
Guilty, guilty
Do you feel guilty tô know
That you’vê put me here and now I can’t stop?

The pill that you swallow is mine
The pins, the needles and the hypodermic
That pretty white dust that you sniff is mine
Everything is fine

The poison in your throats is mine
The infection, the virus and the disease
The tumor in your dying tissues is mine
Everybody is going tô die

I keep wanting more, motherfuckers
I deafen society with my white noise
Keep out from my empire, motherfuckers
Only I can take delight in these toys

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