Land of Treason

Land of treason—waste no reason—we are breathing fire
We're packs of dogs—we're enemies of men—we are not desired
Our faces show—we've grown cold—but have not conspired
Old hearts gone—the suture's on—mother nations mired
I like a receptacle for the chosen dead, we find our bodies clawed
And with the scent of death, we find that we are not so very awed
Loyalties burned—the words are blurred—overturn your own
Walk the dogs and watch the doors—have your other stone
Stop the toys that march disordered—calculate the thrones
Feel the pulse descending—decaying hallowed tomes
In the starving sense you worship—the nations of debris
You wear a cost of sewage—that you've never even seen
The time is now—the vicious here—a stolen dinner code
The license of the savage land—that you've always sold
So bite the hand that needs you and bless another coal
The virus never issues—from a cotton so very old
As the lights come down and the guilty blaze; another sort of road
You wash your hands and start to climb the ladder that you stole
Slip the latch—and spin the sword—the money lords are poor
Push the tank—that rolls downhill—their sense of doom absorbed
Still the cat that breaks the night—tie him to the core
Chase the virtue that believes—that what's right is scored
It's a senseless cash in of right for right—what's wrong is never gone
And left is just a bastion for the fools golden dawn