Lyrics
[introduction] This is the locomotive of pains,
Where false prophets feast on veins.
This is the locomotive of pains,
Where children are just chains.
This is the locomotive of pains,
Where infants’ cries fuel the flames.
This is the locomotive of pains,
And we are the dross—without names.
[Verse 1] From this rust-eaten panel, a panorama of pain,
A world flayed raw—where grease and grime reign.
Flesh and scrap, the brutal truth,
Where soot-choked lungs heave in vain.
Scattered bolts on the tracks, a trail of rotting gray,
Infants’ wails smothered deep as dawn bleeds to ash.
Only the whistle—sharp, obscene—
A dirge of steel, cold and brash.
[Chorus] This weeping bulkhead, a canvas of rust,
No quake nor flood can cleanse the crust.
Children, like soothsayers, lost in the fume’s embrace,
As leaden clouds descend, erasing time’s last trace.
Dawn is murdered with every breath,
Life dissolves in powdered death.
Another soul, another shattered dream,
Beneath this machine’s obscene gleam.
[Verse 2] The smokestacks rape the poisoned sky,
Ambition’s teeth, bared high.
Does progress feast on bones and dust,
Leaving only the crushed?
A trough of greed, where coins drown in the mire,
Beggars clog the city’s veins, fueling the pyre.
Acid tides purge the seas,
A wasteland where no light bleeds.
[Chorus] This weeping bulkhead, a canvas of rust,
No quake nor flood can cleanse the crust.
Children, like soothsayers, lost in the fume’s embrace,
As leaden clouds descend, erasing time’s last trace.
Dawn is murdered with every breath,
Life dissolves in powdered death.
Another soul, another shattered dream,
Beneath this machine’s obscene gleam.
[Bridge] I hear the cannons’ roar, the steel teeth chew,
A harvest of screams in the furnace’s hue.
We are the dross, the cast-aside,
Fodder for the locomotive’s ride.
[Outro] They steal at Central’s maw, ‘neath the sun’s cruel eye,
While souls sweat blood in the choking sky.
No solace, no grace, just the grind of the wheel,
In this iron coffin, life isn’t real.
[final] This is the locomotive of pains,
Where false prophets feast on veins.
This is the locomotive of pains,
Where children are just chains.
This is the locomotive of pains,
Where infants’ cries fuel the flames.
This is the locomotive of pains,
And we are the dross—without names.