Children Of The Corn Syrup - Fit For An Autopsy

Human nature is the enemy

Reaper in tow

Sickle in hand

No gardens will grow

On squandered land

We are all dead growth

Reaping all that we have sown

Rooted in your youth

Buried with bones

The secrets they keep

Seep through the cracks in our homes

Here lies your mother

Born of this soil

Once famous for her beauty

Let a rotting corpse

Here lies our father

Born of this oil

Forged in the flames

We burn with no remorse

Instincts

Of the selfish

To pillage

Nothing left to salvage

Architects of destruction

Instincts

Of the foolish

To follow

Liars as they ravage

The fruits of a fallen nation

American desolation

We only shit where we eat

Licking the plate clean

Such a modern convenience

A four course meal

For anyone not listening

Romantic dinners for two

The parasites and you

Human nature is the enemy

Reaper in tow

Sickle in hand

No gardens will grow

On squandered land

We are all dead growth

Reaping what we have sown

Rooted in your youth

Buried with bones

The secrets they keep

Seep through the cracks in our homes

Disgusting fucking human appetite

Cultivating the lands of desolation

Disgusting fucking human appetite

Fear the end of your exploitations