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