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The face of a stranger is caught in a sight

The Killing is art, the art with no worth of delight

You've found a victim, but who said you've found truth?

On the other side of coin the victim is you

Finger on the trigger, killing time has come

You begin a countdown with death, one on one

Nothing but bloody traces on the wall

Another innocent soul is shot to the underworld

You are a spawn of war

Nothing is sacred for you anymore

You're taught only to kill, what you can feel

When you enter the battlefield?

Estranged existence your life has become

Empty biologic shell under dying sun

Shoot yourself now, no sense for dying later

Your consciousness gone like a vile traitor