EMC:

Plant life.
An industrial complex, anxiety factory
with metal-mouthed tentacles that leech off of batteries
Imma keep running and recoiling for hunting
Ingested corrosion off moments that rusted
Hungry lunging like a junkie for a fix
Pipelines that mainline the dark time I lived
A feeding frenzy feasting excavated weakness
Plant engine screaming Love’s Dark Season

Heartz:

The white wash washed off in one swoop
There was an iron creature that whistled as it spoke,
and as it spoke the hope broke
Falling faster into paintings of meaningless things I can’t even...
comprehend
In a sense of unbiased individuality
There was a duality in the lake where you drowned me,

Hermit:

What beast of rendered steel slumps drunkenly from the factory
Blasting toxic gas to distract us from our faculties
Action is promoted through motive and we are lifeless
Stricken by the viciousness of the instruments that fight us
Idols form from light but we have penetrated underground
Hearkening epiphanies from the peripheries of the thunder clouds
Wrenched apart by the Horsemen of the Black Cloak
And assembled in the plant to make your every chance your last hope.

EMC:

Load the carousel dead weight suffocate
By-product in the lungs try to ventilate
Quota time, mind fried, tired assembly line
Can’t assemble lines, no Im not fine, overtime
Maxed out producing the anxiousness bleeding
The noxious confusion recycle my screaming
Speaking smokestack limbs turn to brick
Frantically planting til my engine quits


Heartz:

The devil destroyed my house made of straw
With machines that only grow louder
as i throw my hands up in valediction,
This is as close as we will ever get to real metaphysics
Existentialism was real until I was cast as a mute lead
the beauty of your lust for my hatred drips in bowls i drink out of
lick everything clean
the concepts were one sided when the place was destroyed

Hermit:

In a broken hopeless city dream, ground zero bricks scatter
Anti-matter Kali dancing on some planet shatter shit
With a wolf jaw snap, rust clenches
and dust commences to smother other senses
Only pain is retained along the flame stained surface
The house can barely hold against a mainframe with a purpose
The worst is, production’s engineered to never cease
Smokestacks belch with the birth of the machines