Fit For An Autopsy - Pandora

Open pandora
Open pandora

Violent twitching towards the closing void
Through a maze of tortured pines, where life withers as one
Broken kin, broken kind
All who tread through the oil-soaked sea deserve the fate of the sinking sky
Our time here is not long
Broken kin, broken kind

Hide your hells in the dirt, where the dead define you
Hide your hells here on еarth, where death will find you

Opеn pandora
Open pandora

The curse of coercion, two sides of a horrid mask
Distorted dependance, loyalists to the falsest flags
Wet work on the wasteland, white washing the rubble
It's never “too many graves.”
It's always “not enough shovels.”

Stand in the eye of the storm
Stand in the eye of the storm
Stand in the eye of the storm
All is calm but then comes the killing
All is calm but then comes the killing

Open pandora
Open pandora

Too many graves, not enough shovels
It's never “too many graves.”
It's always “not enough shovels.”

Hide your hells in the dirt, where the dead define you
Hide your hells here on earth, where death will find you

Turbines shriek in smokestack sermons
True call to nature, the mortal burden
The mother sleeps in the blood of the future
The dead define you, now death will find you

A world driven by extinction, only ends in extinction

Death will find you