Lyrics Fit For An Autopsy – Children Of The Corn Syrup

Human nature is the enemy

Reaper in tow
Sickle in hand
No gardens will grow

We are all dead growth
Reaping all that we have sown
Rooted in your youth
Buried with bones
The secrets they keep
Seep through the cracks in our homes
Here lies your mother

Born of this soil
Once famous for her beauty
Let a rotting corpse
Here lies our father
Born of this oil
Forged in the flames
We burn with no remorse

Instincts
Of the selfish
To pillage
Nothing left to salvage
Architects of destruction
Instincts
Of the foolish
To follow
Liars as they ravage
The fruits of a fallen nation

American desolation

We only shit where we eat
Licking the plate clean
Such a modern convenience
A four course meal
For anyone not listening
Romantic dinners for two
The parasites and you

Human nature is the enemy

Reaper in tow
Sickle in hand
No gardens will grow
On squandered land

We are all dead growth
Reaping what we have sown
Rooted in your youth
Buried with bones
The secrets they keep
Seep through the cracks in our homes
Disgusting fucking human appetite
Cultivating the lands of desolation

Disgusting fucking human appetite
Fear the end of your exploitations