They

They offer us the blades
 That tear with pleasure our flesh
 And every strife carves
 Their influence on our minds
 We live with this suffering
 A fall into depression
 The self-mutilation pushes us
 Towards the meaning of our beings
 They decrease us all the time until we reach the state of shit
 And every word molest our faces into wounds
 We take all verbal injuries and keep them inside
 The inner rottenness feed the ulcer, bleeding fear
 They die, one after one
 Cause this is all they deserve
 And the smell of powder mixed to their blood
 Is intoxicating
 We bear the guns and load the bullets
 Blasting their heads
 We're children of Despair
 And priest of negation
 We are them
 We offer your blades and break your minds
 We load your guns and press the relaxation
 We are them and command your death