In the yard of the old man 

The ruin's shimmering 

The world's painted pale 

The conditions are at stale 

Flocks gathered from far away 

Hiding, still overly aggressive 

Generations they will slay 

Not really regressive 

A dead end cave 

Home of the brave 

The world fools no one 

Grace me with hammering rest 

Keep an eye on the sea 

Imagine what we would be 

Rushing to the shores 

God of all damn wars 

Wrenched beyond recognition 

No such thing as human intuition 

Feel free to turn the supreme ignition