In the old box of grommets
Bolts, sprockets and gears
You'll see what I'm built from, behind
My brestplate between my two ears

Each must've been crafted by hands so betrayed
Or enslaved by some awful dictator
And must be filled with resentment or sorrow
It borrowed from its creator

Bring out your dead
I'm a doomsday machine

Once I was just a body
With a brain that thought "I am"
Digits turning waves into features
On cliff faces made out of sand

Each one was so satisfying, just trying
to make pretty things and succeeding
But as I looked closer each sculpture
had vultures in, preying on men broke and bleeding

Bring out your dead
Oh my god, I'm a doomsday machine

All that I see of me now
When I look at the quartz in my heart
Are dull beams of sadness,
Reflections sourced from my art

What if this is all that I am?
Just a man made of everything frightening
Well any man can glean from a scene in a dream
How to run from the lightening

Bring out your dead
Today I'm a doomsday machine





Hey  medli how's it going