Letra de Craft Messenger

Filth of butchers. No sympathy to the cries of the living. All sad eyes cry. March of death. As the human race waits in line. One by one over the cliff, as we perish in the cleansing. Unknowing. They lay there as an example of our selfishness. Or everything beautiful, a flower died today. We failed the test as inhabitants. Our ice age on the clock. As they cry in our succession of destroying ourselves
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What's that? It's the sound of a billion people gasping as the last tree ever is cut down. Making room for our mega malls and feedlots. We might destroy the one thing capable of maintaining our existence. The richest man in the world will be the man who creates blacktop that can produce oxygen. The fifty year countdown is upon us. The fifty year countdown to our nonexistence. It's a wonder we have lasted this long