We are the agents of despair knocking on your door.
If you answer you will see a sickle and scythe,
We are not malicious nor will we come after your children,
We will leave that torture to society.
We are the agents of despair,
Knocking upon an old man's door.
Bound to a wheelchair and breathing device.
He is harmless and feeble but has lived a good life.
But ask him what he did with his fascist uniform from 1944.
We are the agents of despair opening the gates to swollen oceans
and burning skies.
People may fear us but we are just the beginning,
The real beasts have only begun to take shape and awaken.
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