Pity for the hardened screaming end of life
a former comfort or a lack of self
it's not over now its just the tip of a greater fall
a greater fall
my second hand devotion is a first hand myth
a myth that echoes in the body, Manipulate
feed me tragic stories through rusted metal tubes
i prefer you're leather skin to the corpse i know
or the savageness trapped in you're eye
push the bottom deeper
bring us closer
self unable satiate
not one with you're flesh
an unfelt betrayal
Pinnacle
pinnacle of the archetype
Spends its life in gangbang degradation
try and transcend
pull me out of my body
i won't ammend
this smell is so heavy
Transcend
in dreams i bury you in my veins
With no emotion
Scrapped from the throat
of a wounded child
pull me out of my body
The pigs run wild.