Roots Of The World

Now some say  
We are mud and bones  
Born from defiant battlefield dirt  

I believe you are me  
Scuttle along like shipwrecks  
Decency dies in murderous applause  
 
Nothing is forgiven  
But some things I will not abide  
 
To rebel in a pyre  
Where the flame turns cool  
 
Rejoice, hold the line  
Got no friends in this undertow  
 
Reprisals quicken  
And nobody gets out alive  
If wronged I demand satisfaction  
 
Feast on the marrow  
And sleep in guiltless sheets  
A roll of the dice every time it seems  
 
Nothing is forgiven  
But some things I will not abide  
 
To rebel in a pyre  
Where the flame turns cool  
 
Rejoice, hold the line  
Got no friends in this undertow  
 
Our names unknown  
Our faces become irrelevant  
Chosen to command the aberrations  
 
Who yearn for peace  
But remain cruel as the beast  
That roam amongst cold tombstones  
 
Everything goes, serpentine