Hear the cries of our soul-less suffering
We are born into thorn-like chains
Would you choose life and all of its pain
If you had the comfort of a day's refrain?
The seeds we have sewn, like weeds they have grown
Into mostrosities of towering steel and concrete
The more we produce, the more we'll consume--the cycle never ends
There is no rest...
The worst is still yet to come