In the shadows of the night, where darkness holds its sway,
A cacophony of sounds, where industrial rock bands play,
Nine Inch Nails and Ministry, the pioneers of dread,
Their twisted melodies, a soundtrack for the undead.
The pounding of the drums, a heartbeat in the gloom,
The snarl of the guitar, like a siren's fateful doom,
Marilyn Manson's voice, a bellow from the deep,
Telling tales of anguish, of the secrets that we keep.
In abandoned factories, where the rusted gears now stand,
Rammstein takes the stage, in this haunting twisted land,
Cobwebs in the corners, a layer of dust and grime,
KMFDM's dark embrace, transcending space and time.
The audience, a sea of black, their faces cold and pale,
Drawn to the darkness, in Skinny Puppy's morbid tale,
Their eyes, they gleam like stars, in the shadows of despair,
As the music washes over them, like a chilling midnight air.
Front Line Assembly plays, a symphony of fright,
Their notes, a twisted dance, with the demons of the night,
A communion of the damned, in the realm of shadows cast,
Stabbing Westward's haunting hymns, a tribute to the past.
Rob Zombie's sinister growl, a menacing refrain,
Echoes through the halls, in this theater of pain,
The whispers of the wind, they carry on their tune,
A chilling lullaby, beneath the haunting moon.
For in the world of industrial rock, where darkness reigns supreme,
The echoes of the music, are the soundtrack of our dreams.