God Machine
Acid Bath Lyrics

The God machine is hungry
The system craves for individuality and intelligent people to operate it

For individualism and ripe brains
It demands uniqueness and highly intellectual individuals

The skull farmers do their rain dance
The people who run this system perform their ritualistic dances to control it

And pray the machine falls to sleep
They hope to find a way to temporarily deactivate the machine

She holds me close
The artist holds and embraces someone intimately

And whispers wet
She whispers something with moist and possibly sexual overtones

"there are cannibals among us."
She warns of insatiable and savage individuals in their midst

Mad in love with dry dead boys
They have a twisted fascination and attraction with corpses

In the backs of
Possibly in the deserted or hidden parts of a location

Abandoned cars
Vehicles left to decay and rot from disuse

Smoking the bones of children
They are indulging in the remains of innocent and helpless victims

Plotting the murder of love
They are scheming to terminate emotions and experiences of deep affection

Strapped into the chair
The singer is held down or immobilized in a chair-like contraption

The needle now descends
A sharp object is being injected into the singer

As they lick their cracking lips
Those who are doing this are excited and hungry for what's happening

Their twitching never ends
They are constantly in motion or unable to keep still

Blood beneath their finger nails,
They have residual stains from their previous violent act

Swallow all my pain
They demand for the singer to take in all their hurt and torture

Dirty needles break the skin
They inject the singer with used and infected needles

Suck hard as I drain
They are actively taking away something vital from the artist

Sunken eyes, a twisted spine
The artist's physical state is despondent and deformed

A whiter shade of pale
The artist's complexion is light and pasty from the abuse

Rockabilly man come to pound the coffin nails
A lively person comes to hasten the singer's death

Inject my stomach full of
The artist's abdomen is being filled with a foreign substance

Cockroach eggs
An unwholesome and disgustingly repulsive material is being injected

Their machine is coming carried on a million legs
The devious plan they had set is about to unfold through a massive, coordinated effort

Waking in the sleep of reason
Their operational method entails finding ideas and principles to undermine logical thinking

Winter is the forever season
A somber and bleak period extending indefinitely

Lick thy mother's bleeding lips
A grotesque image of someone giving their poisonous mother's wound attention

From this glass of hate we sip
They casually and comfortably indulge in the putrid liquid of their sadism

Fuck the glass we pump the keg
Usurping and taking control of an entire supply of the toxic substance

Kill conception at the egg
Eliminating the possibility of any future generation to inherit their madness

Her chin is wet with someone's hate
The hate and anger of others have rubbed off on her physically

Love, disfigure, amputate
Affection leads to ugly and destructive consequences of dismemberment

Can you remember how it felt to be alive?
A poignant question to those who once knew what hope and happiness is

Your god machine is cold
The machine of their worship is apathetic and callous

And dead your eyes they cannot cry
Their eyes lack the capacity to feel emotion

Fuck your deities of dying love
Disregarding and defying any symbol of reverence and compassion

We have shot them down from the skies above
They claim to have disabled even the most exalted beings of mercy

Screaming convulsing
Agonizing and writhing in pain

My eyes are bleeding
The artist is experiencing physical and emotional distress

Be silent now and take your beating
Ordered to be quiet and accept the punishment being given

I wonder how long you would live
The singer questions the survival rate of their adversary

With a bullet in your gut
Shot and wounded with a bullet in their abdomen

I wonder how much shit you'd talk
The artist wonders if their adversary will keep being loud and boastful

If your throat was cut
If their throat had been violently sliced, rendering their voice useless

I wonder what you'd sound like begging me
The singer is curious how pathetic their adversary would appear when begging

To let you breathe
Pleading to be freed from their clutches

I wonder how much pain it would take
The singer ponders how much torture is necessary

To make you all believe
Making everyone fully understand and submit to their superiority

In me
Trusting and assenting solely to the singer

I'm your god machine
The artist declares their role as the entity to carry out their will and dictate their fate

Fuck your god
Expressing contempt towards any forces of authority and guidance