PureVolume

Members: Brett, Chuck, Brian, Brian, & Will

Lyrics:

Conquests of a Dying Culture:
Along these once fresh and fertile fields; Did we spread like wildfire, a swarming hatred; Laying waste to all those who oppose our creed; Like armies marching, on in death's name. A storm of ideals, unbridled power; False knowledge fashioned for our conquest; Destruction's minions, with one aim in mind; A free world for the taking. Across these pure and sacred lands; Did we plant our seeds, of deception; Our blind faith and the fruits of our labor; Lie in a failing system. Rape and slaughter those who won't accept this; We shall water our fields with all their blood; A raging harvest wrought with disapproval; The end result of our burning Eden. This machine will drive on and on; Whether or not you are on board; Devastation is the only thing; That it produces. The destiny of our culture. All creation shall perish; The price of advancement; This device will not fail; Our vehicle for change. A hunger fueled by lethal intentions; Running rampant through our minds; Thirsting for an absolute mastery; The time will soon come when all will think like us. Nothing shall pass 'til man has reached his mark; No one shall rest 'til gods we all become. Consume the fruit of the forbidden tree; This world belongs to us; None shall oppose us but must.

The Thunder Swarm:
From whence the cursed womb of insidious nature; Poured forth the blessings of this emanation. This fallen harbinger has descended; To spread the gloom of divine intention; Oh war-bringer we have been summoned; To topple your regime trampled under hoof. Lo the Thunder Swarm rides. Sent to endure and rebuild born from the eye of the storm; Marauders we are riders for the swarm. Steal the reins from encroaching doom; Steady this cavalcade on the narrow path; Stand fast and march on to claim victory; This war is over before it has begun. Our numbers will swell and give birth to an immense flock; And so will we become collectors of your bones; Dealers of your flesh another notch in this belt; As sickle to field our merits will finally be amassed. Our legion shall crash upon your treacherous rampart; Like hammer upon stone, like ax into bone. Our toils will always produce more while; Your sweat falls to the mud; Our tongues will always cut deeper while; Our pain flows through your blood; For as your sun sets, mine is now rising. Thus we remain forever, more. This covenant has been fulfilled and so shall we rest; The sullen evening stars now beckon us home. Torch this city in remembrance; Scatter the ashes of the dead ways; May they take root and fester; We'll all bathe in the glow of the rebirth.