Mile-High Mausoleum!

[I] The Queen City of the Plains, where the air is thin but the mercy is thinner. You are now entering the Mile High Mosolium. Breathe deep while you still can, for the altitude is a silent executioner!
[1] Post-punk shadows on a Colfax curb, The silence of the prairie is the first thing we disturb. The Mercury is a temple made of velvet and bone, Where the Archon of Atrophy sits upon a spray-painted throne. In the back of the Rock Island, the static begins to bleed, Planting a necrotic treaty like a poisonous seed. We were isolated, jagged, and starving for the light, Carving our names into the frozen skin of the night!
[C] Welcome to the Mile High Mosolium. Where the skyline is a ribcage and the streets are all numb. Under the weight of the Rockies, we're crushed into stone, A lithic covenant carved into the bone. (SUSTAIN!) The Decay!
[2] The cranes are the vultures circling the crane-filled sky, Watching the history of the dusty frontier slowly die. Glass towers rise like jagged shards of a broken mirror, Bringing the end of the underground ever closer, ever clearer. The ghosts of the stockyards are howling in the vents, Replaced by the sterile smell of silicon and synthetic scents. We trade our lungs for a view of the peaks we can't climb, Suffocating slowly in the gears of corporate Crime!
[C] Welcome to the Mile High Mosolium. Where the skyline is a ribcage and the streets are all numb. Under the weight of the Rockies, we're crushed into stone, A lithic covenant carved into the bone. (SUSTAIN!) The Decay!
[B] Left hand on the throttle, right hand on the grave, There is no mountain high enough to save. The granite is shifting, the fault lines are wide, We are the wreckage on the wrong side of the divide. (TEAR DOWN THE SUMMIT!) Drown the Plains!
[3] Blue sky turns to lead as the inversion settles in, A smog-choked halo for a city built on sin. From the tunnels of DIA to the shadows of the Mint, Every gold-leafed promise has a cold, metallic glint. The red rocks are bleeding, the rivers are dry, We are the cattle waiting for the sun to drop from the sky. Identity stripped by the frost and the flame, In the Mile High Mosolium, no one remembers your name!
[O] The altitude claims another. The silence is absolute. Only the stone remains!

130 BPM/Denver Style - Industrial, Darkwave, Electro Pop, male.