---

Epicures messiah, deliver us from our selves,

our love affair with our own reflections,

from immorality and all it entails.

Hedonists, prostitutes, heretics

they all see eye to eye.

The pursuit of pleasure and

our carnal nature.

The prize for which we'll die!

Hail death, hail sex, lust,

hail horror, hail pleasure, hail pain,

in our emptiness we've nothing to gain.

In our emptiness we've nothing to gain!

Hedonists, prostitutes, heretics

they all see eye to eye.

The pursuit of pleasure and

our carnal nature.

The prize for which we'll die!

Aristipus is dead,

we'll join him in the dirt.

Pleasure is our primal pursuit,

we will sleep in the earth.

The human exhibit,

the menagerie of lust.

Feasting on whore's flesh,

gaze upon harlots and sluts.

To bed ourselves in filth,

to replace our hallowed ground

Bare the greed upon our palms,

infected loins abound.

Bar code sexuality,

our romance factory.

The impulse,

our animalistic nature.

Hardwire our desires.

Worship ourselves

in the church of fools.

Worship ourselves

in the church of fools.

Idol worship idle hands,

the deprivation of man.

The illusion of human misery,

vanity, lust, sex and death.

Behold the human machine.

the lust industry, towering smoke

stacks to the sky, dominance

and falicentricity.

This is the rape of the intellect,

the incircumventable abyss,

insurmountable mass appeal,

narcissistic bliss.

Carnal creation and cadavers,

morbid obsession with our own reflection.

The hallow act of adoration,

the need to slake our own lust.

The human machine, the viral infection.

We are both pest and pesticide.