The Colonist

Where does the setting sun go to rest? Go to rest? The darkest days

come and go, they never seem to end. Inhuman, inhumane, inane

existence. Barely existing. Surviving. Reviving a world that has been

dead for years. Blood sweat and tears. Disinformation and fear. We

carry on like we serve a purpose. Just a decaying gear in a machine,

built to destroy itself from the inside out, bleeding from the mouth,

calling out your name, carving out your hate. Alone and breathing, the

same stagnant air the rats exhale. Pushing through the waste, the

shallow graves. hoping to find a cure to cleanse the filth of the

human race. Expose the skull. Leave the brain and pray it never stops

dreaming. Expose the bone, leave the heart and pray it never stops

beating. Failure is not an option, it's the only way out. How long

until it crumbles? How much longer can we last? Do we even have a

choice? Or do we stand a chance? We place our faith and trust in the

hands of heartless fucking liars, so we can sleep at night. And hope

we never wake up. Never wake up. You can't control us all. You'll

never kill us all. Failure is not an option. It's the only way out.

You can't control us all. You'll never fucking kill us all.