Text: Holy Mountain. Entrails. Hammers.

And still we soldier on
to find some grace
a reason or meaning
to stay alive,
to not gouge our eyes
and deafen our ears
surrounded by all destitute
and bankrupt concepts
the yield of a rich and blood soaked soil
the fevers wane and the lulls build hope,
but always return to stir the passions
of the cowardly,
and set ablaze the cannibalistic hearts
of evil men
to ink another page
in the blood of those deserving and those not.
Our leaders, our enemies
who speak in the sour tongue of beasts.
And if there are enemies at every turn,
by necessity, an opposition must exist
in words
in action
by principle
our lives must be our resistance
It's not a war that we will ever win,
but we fight it everyday, until our own end
We revolt in the way we live,
because selling out has never been an option
It's not a war that we will ever win,
but giving in will never be an option