Feed the eaters of the beasts,
those beasts born of the beasts,
avenging pups, the cannibal brood
restoring stasis to the scheme.

Feed them on their kin,
feed their kind to them.
Ouroboros made proud
as the system closes in.

Insatiable hunger of their kind,
their swollen flesh grown plump and ripe,
while now the banquet's lean and weak,
and all remains, their fattened ranks.

Swollen bellies, soon to burst,
drawn by their illbegotten wolves,
ripped open by the gnashing jaws,
till entrails flow, purloined set free.

Disease of sallow perfidy
turned rancor 'gainst their stead,
and now they must indulge
the evil beasts they bred.

Brought down from lofty heights,
slain by their greed for all,
now revel in one final feast - a feast of feasts,
the feast of beasts upon the beasts.

Ouroboros made proud,
indeed the great are downed,
the force fought by the force,
the beasts fed on the beasts.

Is come, the silent subterfuge
borne out, the latent scheme
that lurked humbly in shadows like
some bastard brother of a king.

A second track, shy from their view
a subplot lost to profuse pride
an undoing by great irony
that's stalked in patience all this while.

Feed the eaters of the beasts
who prosecute the final phase
who's days, once come, soon drawn to close
who's ways, born of those soon consumed.

Feed them on their kin,
feed their kind to them.
Ouroboros made proud
as the system closes in.