Home of titans - where extension is the frame Remission is the play - in this amaranthine game In our compulsory advance - the conquest belts the soil We build loggers of the wild land - that never will recoil The terms are definite - in this exhausted engine Scarred in the heaven's blood - and seared into it's skin In the contamination range - the ice turns out insane And a merciful tariff - does not make us humane
Home of titans - where dominion stuns the will Cannibals and ogres - they have a pouch to fill In our loathsome acumen - inheritance is tyranny Our anima is overcome - and a womb is strategy A seduction essential - in a lunatic cadence A perfection of the style - but a murder of the sense The executive array - operates a mercy-cane But the occasional pardon - does not make us humane
Home of titans - where we shadow our own sun Rapists and assassins - we all become In our machinery of greed - a life is but a tool Love is a residue - innocent blood is fuel Yes we all partake - in this atrocity This is the land of the axe - and of the mercenary Then we write out contracts - in order not to cut a vein But hiding slaughter in four walls - does not make us humane
