Lyrics Children of the Corn Syrup - Fit for An Autopsy

Human nature is the enemy
Reaper in tow
Sickle in hand
No gardens will grow
On squandered land
We are all dead growth
Reaping all that we have sown
Rooted in our youth
Buried with bones
The secrets they keep
They seep through the cracks in our homes
Here lies our mother,
Born of this soil,
Once famous for her beauty
Left a rotting corpse
Here lies our father,
Born of this oil,
Forged in the flames
We burn with no remorse
Instincts
Of the selfish
To pillage
Nothing left to salvage,
Architects of destruction
Instincts
Of the foolish
To follow
Liars as they ravage
The fruits of a fallen nation
American desolation
We only shit where we eat
Licking the plate clean
Such a modern convenience,
A four course meal
For anyone not listening
Romantic dinners for two
The parasites and you
Human nature is the enemy
Reaper in tow,
Sickle in hand
No gardens will grow,
On squandered land
We are all dead growth
Reaping what we have sown
Rooted in our youth
Buried with bones
The secrets they keep
They seep through the cracks in our homes
Disgusting fucking human appetite,
Cultivating the lands of desolation
Disgusting fucking human appetite,
Fear the end of your exploitations
Disgusting fucking human appetite,
Disgusting fucking human appetite