|
It's cold (so fucking cold) |
|
A sordid trip to the vowels of creation |
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The seductive wasteland, marrow of the world |
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That gentle melancholy that so endeared in times past |
|
It seems to hang with an unnerving ease |
|
I've been here before but now it seems there is no way out |
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There is now way out but down, the ante chambers to nothing |
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The terror scratching at the surface of sanity |
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Eyes are plucked |
|
The jackals are coming |
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Hands are bleeding |
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Raw from the scratching |
|
Freedom lies |
|
The depths of |
|
Lies |
|
Freedom lies |
|
Through the ether |
|
Elemental nausea |
|
Free to stagnate |
|
Grinding elation |
|
Oppressive opiates |
|
Residue of flesh |
|
Through the ether |
