| Dread swims through the bloodstreams
|
| Floating back into the past
|
| On the drift, voices wailing
|
| A tone-deaf choir praising
|
| It rotates inside the tomb
|
| Coiled around a broken ladder
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| Infants swirl inside the womb
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| Retracting to their dense rooms
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| The taste of old words
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| The heart recoils and repents
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| Infected water spoils the well
|
| A telescope through to hell
|
| Inside my spacious cellar
|
| I do not shine right
|
| The blue light’s smooth
|
| But it’s a dense void
|
| Beneath my tongue, raw screams
|
| I swim behind the lies and moan
|
| The blue light’s smooth
|
| But it won’t shine right
|
| The stained internal sculpture
|
| The holy infant inside the sun
|
| A dead flower blooming
|
| Listening out for the end
|
| Inside my spacious cellar
|
| I dot not shine right
|
| The blue light’s smooth
|
| But it’s a dense void
|
| Beneath my tongue, raw screams
|
| The crude voice of the soul
|
| Underneath my hunger
|
| My hermetic fowl interior land |