New Horrors Everyday (Joy Unbound)

And will you deny the Armageddon that's come to shake your land? Not very hospitable, are you? Show him around, sing some rounds, revel in the mystery that's come to bring you down. O sweet death, this is the place meant for thy cold touch. So much innocence makes fertile ground for the final exposure of our guilt, for so long built on the lies that thy present makes come true. Rejoice! Our sins shall be cleansed. What more could we want? Music maestro air on a Gspot, sweet sound of life to make death feel at home. O the fires that shall soon burn! Imagine the mutations to arise from our final celebration: freaks to seek a truth that's real, one we could never face, even though we knew our illusions were sure to doom our race. That's show biz. What remains want an encore.