Schlachthaus Der Gedanken

This is a fading trace of reality.

Distorted lines of freedom
Where the mediocre man prevails
Absolute flattery of equality.

Like the procession of the hearse
Slowly leading the lamenting mob
To the burial of existence.

Industrie des fleisches
Schlachthaus der Gedanken.

No more traces of reality.

It fears, it cries, it hopes, it loves
That little sphere filled with fragile life
Already crawling into death row.

Industrie des fleisches
Schlachthaus der Gedanken.

When followers drown into non-self
Irradiated by constriction of mind
A grandiose self arises to stand and refuse
The innocence of his peers mangles his deep ego
Cracking like whips on flesh
Altering his senses until all humanity is gone.

Perceptions are swirling visions darkened
And as lucidity vanishes anger is soon in control
This outburst of violence pure and devoid of reason
Takes hold of a new reality.

He reigns
They fall.