A Well-Intentioned Virus - ZAO

Anger casts shadows of doubt

Inviting them in has hollowed you out

The purest disgust one can ever feel

It lives in our voice, it guides our eyes

It’s forcing us to realize

We’re born from the fear, the fear of death

Proven designs crush weakened minds

Exceptions to the rule and anomalies

Stir up violence with silver spoons

Cries of persecution

From the persecutor’s tongue

The medium agitates the hive

Frothing hordes of true believers

You are right, yes you are right

You have been chosen to ruin countless heathen lives

Our path of sight through perception is soiled

As our sanity turns spoiled

Commands sent down by light and sound

Imaginary generals lie tired from the war

They will become what they abhor

A well-intentioned virus posing as a cure