Bring it to your lips and experience the sulfur infect, 
everything that we've created.
Don't twist this around.

Don't attempt to justify 
what we know is wrong.

Tendons are torn 
and screams are released 
into a poisoned, mathematic atmosphere.

We're composing our funeral songs
Note by note.
We're composing our funeral songs
Note by note.

With this I declare that 
tomorrow is an allusion.

What if the clouds 
were fragments of mistakes
fabricated by the factories
of our foolishness
foolishness

We're composing our funeral songs
Note by note.
We're composing our funeral songs
Note by note.

Prove me wrong
Prove me wrong
Prove me wrong