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Well I say the less we have to do with Fancy things we don't need, the better Has nobody noticed our infection? This slow and willing genocide Terminal sickness spreads Through thoughts inside our heads Our consciousness under the knife Willing transmission of disease (of disease) Worship new deities Contagion! We've all succumbed to misdirection Lost in the concerns of our own lives Sedated willingly, by our technology Ignorant bliss until we die! Willing transmission of disease (of disease) Worship new deities Contagion! We don't have to buy anything they make do we? Well I say the less we have to do with Fancy things we don't need, the better (Contagion) Have we been sick since our inception? Doomed to our own willing suicide? And as we watch it spread The living become dead But never stop to question why! Contagion! Contagion! Sickness in disguise A contagion! (Contagion) Open up our eyes A contagion! (Contagion...)
More songs from Circle of Dust
Machines of Our Disgrace
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