Constant - Immortal Souls

There is none righteous, all have turned aside

Sorrow — fill the lives of falseness and lies

Not hunger or thirst, diseases or the wars

Nothing is enough for dying mankind

There is no horror, which man is not capable

Misery — and failure, is it what man is made of?

I step aside to listen, the cry of this world

Pain comes in many forms, enhanced in hands of men

Constant — amount of pain, driving us insane

I have less so you get more

Constant are the cries

You have less so I get more

Constant are the cries

Constant — amount of pain driving me insane

I have less so you get more

Constant are the cries

You have less so I get more

Constant are the cries

Have a feast at Vanity Fair

I have less so you get more

Constant are cries

Have a feast at Vanity Fair

You have less so I get more

Constant are the cries