Lost of all things pure and right;
those simple things for children and sick.
dying somewhat coldly with cruel contempt
we break those that serve and worship those that break.
...
she sleeps in glass boxes to see
who wakes her..
she dies a little more
with each leaf that falls
...
shattered screams in twisted scapes
broken dreams over rivers' wakes
bitter taste over forked tongues
sorry eyes into fallen hands
...
Those burning eyes so wet with pain
those hearts of dogs and fallen men
whose fighting starts and ends in vein
those weathered songs that ever cling
...
Booze
Lost of all things pure and right;
those simple things for children and sick.
dying somewhat coldly with cruel contempt
we break those that serve and worship those that break.
you laughing and scraping
crawl toward me hold out your shovel to pick.
click your jaws to speak of fate.
kill Me rightly and make it quick
kill me slightly to make it stick.