The dregs of the morning drift by greeting us with leaden winged despair
It clapsps with crooked hands and tears at the torso, ripping the flesh

It leaves but the scum, filth of the earth, stranded poisonous
Soak up the arid wasteland through every fibre of my being
Hold on to the high crashing wave, it may be our only chance of escape

Lurking in the shadows psychological self loathing violent desire
Slaughter the first born the debris of joy it's all that's left
But this is my only chance of escape the crashing wave
So I'll hold on until I crumble under the weight

A stagnant pit of twisted bones and contorted features wrapped in flesh
Yet stranded to wallow between the walls of destruction
A vacuum created by the desolation and loss of hope a sigh

A sighm a fatal glance to the fading pain that crouches in the corner
For the night is upon us, the triumphant return of joy
Immortality, intensity the need to escape

And beneath its swell the search for absolution continues it's downward spiral
I wade through the fifth, terminal hope

Its infectious this murder
Its infectious, this murderous circus