They

They offer us the blades

that tear with pleasure our flesh

And every strife carves

their influence on our minds

We live with this suffering,

a fall into depression

The self-mutilation pushes us

towards the meaning of our beings

They decrease us all the time until we reach the state of s**t

And every word molest our faces into wounds

We take all verbal injuries and keep them inside

The inner rottenness feed the ulcer, bleeding fear

They die, one after one,

cause this is all they deserve

And the smell of powder mixed to their blood

is intoxicating

We bear the guns and load the bullets

blasting their heads

We're children of Despair

and priest of negation

We are them

We offer your blades and break your minds

We load your guns nd press the relaxation

We are them and command your death