I searched and couldn’t find you.
One of us must be lost.
With my extra free time,
I’m counting up the cost
of all the times I ran,
and all the times I fought.
I’m not even breaking even.
I guess I finally lost.
I only have simple joys left,
and slowly those will leave me.
First your hands, and then your head
can you even hear me screaming?
I’m trapped in isolation.
My blood is slowly draining.
Soon I’ll be cold and lifeless;
on your flesh I will be feeding.
I bet you wish they’d buried me in concrete.
Once again we are together
did you think you had a chance?
Now you understand my hunger,
feed on anything you can.
Who has money to survive?
the ones with oil on their hands.
we’re down here barely breathing –
let’s find the ones who make the plans.
I bet they wish they’d buried us in concrete.
http://www.myspace.com/lessormaure/music/songs/zomcrete-33075490
this is propaganda 