Fit For An Autopsy Shepherd Lyrics
Shepherd by Fit For An Autopsy
The shepherds kill their sheep, just to watch them die
The end of days is born, under the burning sky
A thousand oceans spill upon the spoiled shores
Returning cities to the sea. All as it was before
Retreat beyond the wall where vultures go to die
Scavenge for substance, as the last is swallowed by the flies
Now we compete, with bird and beast
Cycles of deceit, doomed to repeat
Sorrow we seed in, to an earth I once believed in
A future stained, in the blood of our children
We carve through mountains, great shadows they cast
Now Desolate wastelands, clinging to brighter pasts
Nations of thieves, selling our souls for gold
Critical mass, our fate is terminal
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
A thousand fires turn the forests into dust and bone
A wind so thick with ash, the statues shatter into stone
The leaders turn to lepers begging to survive
Scavenge for substance as the last is swallowed by the flies
Behold true sorrow
Behold true sorrow
Behold true sorrow
The shepherds kill their sheep, just to watch them die
The end of days is born, under the burning sky
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
We carve through mountains, great shadows they cast
Now desolate wastelands, clinging to brighter pasts
Nations of thieves, selling our souls for gold
Critical mass, our fate is terminal
Our fate is terminal
The end of days is born, under the burning sky
A thousand oceans spill upon the spoiled shores
Returning cities to the sea. All as it was before
Retreat beyond the wall where vultures go to die
Scavenge for substance, as the last is swallowed by the flies
Now we compete, with bird and beast
Cycles of deceit, doomed to repeat
Sorrow we seed in, to an earth I once believed in
A future stained, in the blood of our children
We carve through mountains, great shadows they cast
Now Desolate wastelands, clinging to brighter pasts
Nations of thieves, selling our souls for gold
Critical mass, our fate is terminal
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
A thousand fires turn the forests into dust and bone
A wind so thick with ash, the statues shatter into stone
The leaders turn to lepers begging to survive
Scavenge for substance as the last is swallowed by the flies
Behold true sorrow
Behold true sorrow
Behold true sorrow
The shepherds kill their sheep, just to watch them die
The end of days is born, under the burning sky
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
Man is the cancer. We call for death and it answers
We carve through mountains, great shadows they cast
Now desolate wastelands, clinging to brighter pasts
Nations of thieves, selling our souls for gold
Critical mass, our fate is terminal
Our fate is terminal