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Fungi of the mountain drops from the palm of the shaman
Bones beating drums, ancestral fire dance around us
Drawn to the eye, you're blinded by the shine of sin
Pray shrills like Baykok, as we bask in oroborus revenge

There's not much going on
from the wormhole out rolls the spawn
Chupacabra in the field of the shepard's sheep
Bats stampede out Red Foot's teeth

Cauldron brew with pulpy grinds of imps
Black wizard smoke will get you high as shit
Stone hand of doom fingers with zero love
Leda sprays all over Magwai cubs

My extinction will pass a curse
as the wind carries my final breath
like a pollen spore of pestilence.

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