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Pity for the hardened screaming end of life
a former comfort or a lack of self
it's not over now its just the tip of a greater fall
a greater fall

my second hand devotion is a first hand myth
a myth that echoes in the body, Manipulate

feed me tragic stories through rusted metal tubes
i prefer you're leather skin to the corpse i know
or the savageness trapped in you're eye

push the bottom deeper
bring us closer
self unable satiate

not one with you're flesh
an unfelt betrayal

Pinnacle

pinnacle of the archetype
Spends its life in gangbang degradation

try and transcend
pull me out of my body
i won't ammend
this smell is so heavy

Transcend

in dreams i bury you in my veins
With no emotion
Scrapped from the throat
of a wounded child

pull me out of my body

The pigs run wild.

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