Industrial collapse. The wheels of the machine grind to a halt living in excess. Greedy bastards. We've closed in on ourselves. Detached from nature. Technology's children must fend for themselves. Dwindling resources. This lifestyle cannot be maintained. The bike punx will rule the wasteland. The wells run dry. Running on fumes when your car comes to a sputtering halt. We will become apocalypse riders. When wheels of steel dance on your graves you will fear apocalypse riders.
Lyrics submitted by This Is Brainwash