A Civilized World

The strangest thing was realized By a thoroughly depressed, detached, angry, confused young product of a ridiculous, hypocritical, bloated society: All the clocks have different times The time spent fumbling for the keys in the house Was lost in the car where the time stood still Rush hour started right on time Only to continue until it became Rush day...rush week...rush yeah...rush millenium...rush age When the clock strikes one, the clock strikes many When the clock struck twelve, it struck hard It struck again and again and again and again Hour after agonizing hour Like clockwork Until one person realized All the clocks have different times Like so many monumental moments in history Some rejoiced, while others fell flat on their faces Most just stuck to their routines, Watched the clocks, And checked their watches Trying desperately To keep them all the same

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 25, 2025

When you're not really doing what you should be doing with your life and it gnaws, and your subconscious is in the backyard scratching at the door like a dog who doesn't understand why it being punished, it shows only our face 'cause your eyes have a new depth' and you look At the ground when you used to trip over your feet 'cause you where always watching the clouds and the stars And it shows in your posture 'cause there's a twist in your spine and a drop in your shoulders. It shows when you speak: you're not as articulate as you used to be once, you where right at the center of it all, every function's focal point, now an awkward, socially inept room silencer Now a feeble, fumbling, frail, pale imitation of the real you, 'cause you let yourself go. You closed your eyes, stepped on a conveyor belt, never noticed the world passing by Better open 'em back up, motherfucker you're heading toward solid ground again, and that dog has ripped he door down, and he's coming for you

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Feb 13, 2026

And there's a crowd laughing And a year from now, or a few, they won't remember what they where laughing at, they'll just remember laughing They'll remember how they laughed, and where they laughed, and how it felt when they laughed, and that they laughed, and they'll laugh, and they'll talk about how funny that was, and they'll not remember what was that "that" was, but that "that" was what they did: they laughed And there's a crowd laughing. Why arе they laughing. Why are they laughing? Do thеy know why they're laughing? And there's a solemn crowd, and a sobbing, loud cry And a tear falls on a pile of bricks with a broken arm sticking out. Sirens and gunshots don't turn a single head, as common as the sun and moon and stars as they shine on every one and everything And they'll never forget why they where crying They'll never forget how it felt, how it feels. In another place, an imread paperlines in a trashcan A headlines reads "37 killed in some place you can't pronounce", and the crossword and the sports section are tucked under someone's arm, and that person is laughing Why are they laughing? Do they know why they're laughing?

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Feb 13, 2026

As we sit on top of the world, with our gutters cluttered with waxen cups crushed under our tires, and all we see every day are the familiar sights of our daily existence, we know nothing. As the dust continues to collect in every corner of every polling place, and every television screen has a familiar smiling face, and our time's wasted as they shovel the shit so high we can taste it, we know nothing. As every doorman checks our IDs, and every scrap of metal gets detected, and we hold our twenties up to the light, and plant forests in the median strips to make things right, we know nothing. But the whole world is watching. The whole world is watching and the whole world is sick, and they'd really rather see a puppet head on a stick. And all the soulless self-important liars holding the reins make the good ones fighting for something real in terms of change seem so strangely out of place, their goals so out of range... And we feel ourselves choke as the mud flies, and the tradition of lies undermines and belies what we're taught all our lives: "Vote or don't complain." That short-sighted, simplified argument proves that we know nothing. And the whole world is watching.

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 25, 2025

So you want your emotions on the table, revealed? Heartfelt hatred for all the injustices, unfairness; love for individuals in all their imperfect beauty; intolerant of all the jabbing, stabbing ugliness of humanity Emotions so unstable, you're married to your ideals, and with all the passion you hare, you’re splitting at the seams But ho the fuck are you cheating on, lover? Who's the last person to look in your eyes, remember the lies, and givе you everything you couldn't return? As you takе another stab at the so called "system", and all the people you burned demand the respect they’re earned, will you start to see the metaphor that is your life? Will you start to recognize yourself as a cinder block in the foundation of this house you want razed? Overestimated your loyalty once again, as you stepped out of and into character, not really knowing which was which, and dwelling on the guilt just long enough to give yourself one more little jabbing, stabbing pain in your head the conflict ensues

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Feb 13, 2026

No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.

Your ancestry of vile acts filters down into your daily life without you knowing Voices of the past whisper in your ear, in your sleep, in your ear... insisting that you must hurt, you must take, you must destroy, you must eat delicious succulent hamburgers from squeaky clean fast-food restaurants, you must shop at places in large buildings with large parking lots of fluorescent lights, you must see a comforting familiar logo everywhere you go, when you traverse the city, you must forget that everything you see was and is supposed to be a forest, a swamp, a valley, or just plain underwater But you don't do anything bad You don't rob, murder, rape, slaughtеr, cheat, steal... that machine in your drivеway has these concepts built right in, from grille to pipe, tread to antenna... from the foundry that made the bolts to the Colombian farm that harvested the plants that produced the beans to make the coffee in the cup (with the logo) in the cupholder next to your shifting rod You smile as you make your merge, safe in the knowledge that if it snows, you still get to work a full 8 hours... Under the fluorescence of progress

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Feb 13, 2026

You and the point you were making had a good thing going once, back in the ten minutes ago times when the walls didn't exist. But then they grew, and grew more relevant then the point and you, and now they've gotten so tall they threaten to buckle under their own weight. So tall they've passed the ceiling, where so many eyes have rolled, it would behoove you to hang the pictures there... but the point... We're at a point where anyone who cared would've grabbed you by the arm and taken you to a downtown place with laughing and dancing, but the walls grab my attention as they menacingly loom, and my mind wanders to thoughts of the tallest ladder, and you, the climber who washes the windows at the top, with a team of ladder holders who walkie-talkie you, "Everything's ok, don't worry about the sway," and your ladder's so tall that they don't know you've been falling all day. And I'm at the point where I can't see the point for the walls, and you're the sillhouette behind the point, trying to poke it through...

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025