Blood and soil by any other name
It all turns out the same
But I'm immune
Benito's earlier work, a distinctly different tone
Than that of the grand buffoon marching his worms through Rome
What can we infer from such crossings of the floor?
I'm not sure it really matters anymore
Divination through the inspection of the entrails
Of a society gone completely off the rails
Optimal group size, scaling ratios suggest
What any goddamn half-wit could've guessed
My only remaining goal was to leave this world without
Actually killing someone, I find myself harbouring doubts
There's a Venn diagram emerging from the mist
I don't think you're gonna like what it suggests
Sometimes you must go too far
To find out where your boundaries are
You say that God has chosen you
Well, I've been busy choosing too
When your deceptions finally fail
We will inspect the remaining entrails
Narcissistic, Machiavellian
Sadistic, straight-up Orwellian
Stand back, let's have a look at you
The little Quisling that you've turned into
Blood and soil by any other name
You've weaponized your pain
Destined to fail from the start
As most catastrophes are
Ancient contagions exhumed
Turns out that no one's immune
