The Fevered Circle - At the Gates

Each day a mournful pity

Life looks upon you with scorn

Hopes flee, visions elude

As your feeble breath is torn

Six sinister thorns of beauty

The claws of the nondivine

Our right to breathe

Our right to bleed

Forever denied

What some seek in the depths of the unknown

Need not be sought so far

Concealed it lurks behind

The truth of what we are

Each day a fevered circle

Life looks upon you with scorn

Six sinister claws of darkness

Strip your flesh to the bone