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Quasarborn
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No Mustapha Mond
Plague
Deadly plague of this age
We all bear it
Now, between orders of apathy
The Chosen few dare to cross the line
Pain, faith in our eyes
Pain, flounder or die
Pain, we must survive
Pain, crossed by the skies
Apt, rough and ready to defy
It all comes down to this
Grind your teeth, blast through the barricades
Nothing to lose − a deceitful thought
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Pain, faith in our eyes
Pain, flounder or die
Pain, we must survive
Pain, crossed by the skies
Captivity, anguish inconceivable
No thrilling finale, no Mustapha Mond
Pain, faith in our eyes
Pain, flounder or die
Pain, w'll not survive
Pain, crossed by the skies
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