Sick Of It All The Land Increases
One is born, one dies
We're fragile and soft
Our surroundings are harsh
Our surrondings are hostile
The world takes what it wants
Nobody's secure
Nobody is safe
Don't take it for granted
To see another day
Murder, accident, suicide, and disease
We're lucky to be here
We're lucky to live
So much is trivial
Beyond that idea
Murder, accident, suicide, and disease
The soul is sacred
It defines our being
And without the body
The force is freed
Leaving only a shell
The land increases
