Century. Black Ocean. Pantheon. Zeneszám

We forget our names. The hair grows down over our eyes.
Our teeth sharpened to points and we will never be safe and we are gone.
We are never going back. We are animals, and we fight ourselves to the death.
Homeless. We slaughter each other. We tear meat from our own carcasses.
We rape and eat the weakest ones and one by one, we disappear.
And soon our scars become the ornaments that define us.
We build a fire in our homes and comfort burns us down.