Artista: Ulcerate
  Canción: The Coming Of Genocide

Blackness, inside to out 
Like a benign tumor turned terminal 
Here we are at the dawn our conclusion 
Penned, paid for and played out by us all 

Seconds slow as we count down to death 
Reflection eclipsed by blame to place 

Fingers point in every direction 
While resting on hair triggers 
The gun is our callous indifference 
The bullet is what we have become 
We have fellated fate for far too long 
Taste our infliction, and know that we were wrong 

There is a beauty within this violent paradigm 
And that lies with the inevitability of our end 

Staring into the abyss of man 
Empty, consumed, ruled by its dead hand 

May the horror of human nature 
Feed the horror of realization 

Caskets for empires founded on fault lines 
Caskets for empires