An ancient ritual sent through time
How do you know it is right?
Without question, we follow it through
A rule best not to endure
The legend of our kindred
The black spot that taints our choice
That black box that spews forth the blood of our fortunes
It’s foolish to quit
Loose our harvest
The fruits of our bloodied hands
Immune of the guilt
Unanswered questions that have yet been put to voice
Our ancestors made our choice
A need filled with destructive thoughts