I think you don't really understand
There is no love, no cure, no helping hand
We are alone and so forgotten
We are alone and so destined to fail
Fruitless endeavors, looking up to the heavens
Will bring you only pain and betrayal
I have been born with the infidel's mark
To see our ugliness, that is my curse
There is no plan, no master goal
There is only our misery
Of our own hands, so foul
Foul
What we've inherited we've already spent
We borrow it now, an action so brutally narrow
When we are gone our mother won't weep
She will deeply sigh at last in relief
I think you don't really understand
There is no love, no cure, no helping hand
We are alone and so forgotten
We are alone and so destined to fail
There is no plan, no master goal
There is only our misery
Of our own hands, so foul
Foul
