Diagnostic of a sick society
Who feeds the membrane of a common cancer,
Which infects minds to fulfill the empty,
The craving hunger to contaminate the others.

Necrosis of your soul
For the insemination of everyone.
Nothing is worth to be your own.

Neurotic are the infertiles praying for taint.
Orifices and wounds they handfill with pus.
Incapable of procreating they lost their purity thus,
Parasitic embryo maturity will gain...

And then it rises as a clone of a dead larva.
Blindfolded with pride they contemplate the bastard,
Incomplete organism drowning in it's own saliva,
Starving now it is festing on it's mother.

Gangrene of your soul
For the sporadisation of everyone.
Nothing is worth to be your own.

Illusional conformity
The goods of flesh's impurity

"The corporation is there to watch over the well spreading of the epidemic, publicizing the world-wide application of the microbes. They show the happy ill-ones in terminal phase parading, and everyone runs to get another tumor injection."

While her pestilent offspring feeds from her last flesh remains,
She savors convulsing her last nausea.
Seeking now the orgasms of glory and earning
To be a part of this new civilisation's gonorrhea.

Through the cataracts of her eyes she sees a blurred image.
Repulsing citizens: here's appearing the healer!
She spits blood laughing, pointing out the outrage.
As he walks away she feels the doubt take in her.