Relapse, sign of the times
Fit for survival
We kill to survive
Extinction, is much too real
We’re too busy dying
To say how we feel
Sitting on the back porch
Looking down a loaded gun
No time for crying
No time, we’ve gotta run
Hysteria, everyone’s gone mad
To consumed in their burdens
To see what they had
Time is like the Black Death
Time is going to soon decay
Written in a match stick
Smell the ashes in the bouquet
