Quarantine

(альбом: Contagion - 2010)

You awake to the putrid stench of decomposing flesh,
Welcome to oblivion.
Do not pray, for salvation won't come,
Your savior does not dwell in this place.

So turn your back on your faith,
It only further holds you captive.
You are the bastard dying children of this race,
Turn your back on all faith.

A desensitized state of consciousness disables every attempt to recall your origin.
The sight and pungence of scorched human remnants foreshadow the purpose of containment.

Showing symptoms of the afflicted ones, you're forcibly secluded from the general populous.
Restrained, sedated, and internally tested.
Archaic instruments have penetrated flesh.

Painfully extracting blood in search of virulent, crimson spray stains the walls.
Their draining torture device induces seizure.
Vital signs are weakened,
Sickness flows from every artery,
And there is no hope of survival for the diseased.

You are the bastard dying children of this race,
Condemned and left in quarantine.

There is no hope for survival,
Sickness flows from every artery.

Embrace oblivion,
You are the bastard dying children of this race.