The industry of death keeps spinning,
a vicious cycle of profiteering
Unstoppable despite the havoc it wreaks
And the scarlet trail left in the sand dunes
where men trade souls to the highest bidder
where brothers turn against each other
will soon swallow them whole
Death will clap its hand in glee
while wasted souls fall to the abyss
And those among the living
continue to pillage amidst the ruins
All around the echo and the chaos
keep ringing in our ears, defeaning
They say violence begets violence,
so who can we blame?
We are all gods in our way
What good are any of us?
Let us resume forging the wreath of death.