Sepulcher (Don't Vote) Lyrics

The indignity being of so little imagination
To dismally concede your trust again,
Sepulchral;
The ballot box a coffin
For your wildest dreams.

Hell's feeble apologists
Capitals arbitrators,
Those that would dull our blades,
Those that would sully our every resistance.

Those who so stupidly believe,
That all this needs
is a return to some previous condition.
A fantasy time, beyond their own lifes horizon.
Those who hate the problems,
But deify the cause.

A readjustment of its tolerances
An aversion to any meaningful change,
The horse less frequently whipped,
A slight loosening of the reigns.

What atrocity would it take
For you to finally condemn the state?