I am up
To my neck
In the shit of mankind
What belongs to the world now
Belongs to the flies
Octophobic translations
And 8, by 8, the window
Withers farther from the soul
Your soul, in a ring, on a spoon
Humans clinging
Entrapment of shadows
The webs and the echoes
That pushpin the mildew
They don't have the courage
To know the things you do.
That little thing you kept inside
To be sure you'd always know
The man you know is never coming home
And it's sad to think
They'll never really know.
Translate the parting duo
That is a chemical reaction
And a widow
And weep, by tribes
And tongues
The universe has come so far
To only come undone?
Well this is the answer
You've been waiting for child
Transmissions cut to clearance
And the skin is wild
I hope you fucking choke on your own spit
The dialect, the derelict
This babel's past the limit
And I've carried off your cure
For far too
Long
Perhaps it's time for you to suffer some (x8)