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Depraved ones who have leeches in their soul and flesh
lured by illuminated false aspects
You wonder what is the price of your bones to the earth…
menial to the structure of all


Feeble is the soul of the one
who imprisons itself into the cage of withering
and buries the key to the soil
Where the seeds of depravity are sowed
and yet assumes the redemption to come


Behold the crumbling divinity!
the choir of agonized wail “Savior! saviors!
where have thou gone… we have no sanctuary amongst us!”


Withering ones who trickle their life
to the well of the voracious, carve your eyes out
Since you have always been blind, crestfallen,
swollen from the sleaze that you have been taught to swallow


Feeble flesh, tainted
The bars are unbreakable
Now the soil bears the fruits withering and perishable
They are ash in your mouth, there is no redemption
as this is the shape of things that are and come

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