Monotony misanthropy for this useless routine.
Raised arms forfeiting to right our wrongs.
As vultures fell from the clouds to devour weary poachers,
I extend my discerning dreams of a disgust with a child bearing a wooden cross.
How could we have spoiled such sweet fruit? let us carve this wood into nothing.
A mother standing blank faced, her child wandering this dirty floor.
She molded his youth into a rotted existence…
She asked herself, "What have I done? What could have I done?"
She cheats herself.

Lyrics submitted by grindbear

Forfeit This Routine song meanings
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