March Of Death

From the moment that I opened the ditch
I found my purpose
Over time the repetition of the act was natural
A dark part inside o’ me
Lead the control
It wasn’t me, but I was there
Watch it all with a kind of cold pleasure

I said to myself
It need to get to use to it
Work with my own hands
And by the touch enjoy the moment
Taste, work, art
Find the definition or understand
The way that comfort you better
Like a craftsman giving shapes the work

Treated like animals that waits the slaughter
They were not people, maybe cattle
Whatever! Doesn’t matter
They were nothing
Or just meat pieces
(Or just meat pieces)!