Pandora - Fit For An Autopsy

Open pandora

Open pandora

Violent twitching towards the closing void

Through a maze of tortured pines, where life withers as one

Broken kin, broken kind

All who tread through the oil-soaked sea deserve the fate of the sinking sky

Our time here is not long

Broken kin, broken kind

Hide your hells in the dirt, where the dead define you

Hide your hells here on arth, where death will find you

Opn pandora

Open pandora

The curse of coercion, two sides of a horrid mask

Distorted dependance, loyalists to the falsest flags

Wet work on the wasteland, white washing the rubble

It’s never «too many graves.»

It’s always «not enough shovels.»

Stand in the eye of the storm

Stand in the eye of the storm

Stand in the eye of the storm

All is calm but then comes the killing

All is calm but then comes the killing

Open pandora

Open pandora

Too many graves, not enough shovels

It’s never «too many graves.»

It’s always «not enough shovels.»

Hide your hells in the dirt, where the dead define you

Hide your hells here on earth, where death will find you

Turbines shriek in smokestack sermons

True call to nature, the mortal burden

The mother sleeps in the blood of the future

The dead define you, now death will find you

A world driven by extinction, only ends in extinction

Death will find you