Too much has been said about the end of timenA million pointed fingers including minenBut when the dusk falls to begin the august winternWe all will have written a verse to the final gospelnSo throw up your hands and sing praise to your lordnFor the ability to see and yet not see what we cannot ignorenNow I feel there's no hopenJust a clock that's moving backwardsnTicking away our chances moving ever fasternI think we are already dead no matter what has been saidnHell is now and now is hellnAnd we will pay for all we didnSomeone somewhere is laughing so hardnAt how easily things can be taken so very farnAnd still we feed the fire of the coming stormnAnd it's human extermination taking formnFrom deep inside my bones I feel anticipation burningnAnd when I put my ear to the floor I hear revolution comingnAnd yet I'm ashamed at the simplicity of humanitynAnd of it's mentality and how easily this society can be shaped and molded into formless and mindless clay