Swamp sickness runs its course through these severed veins––
Spewing sick across the forest floor
Feeding weeds and growing trees amongst those other wicked things.
This crooked nail will be the last in your coffin.
The hammer drops and silence falls (euphoria).

Swamp sickness runs its course through these severed veins––
Blood will flow into this rocky soil.
Volcanic ash and rising peaks, and all the havok this will wreak.
This crooked nail will be the last in your coffin.
The hammer drops and silence falls (phantomgasmoria).

Mountains will rise out of pillars of salt,
And rivers will flow from the human gestalt.
Deserts will strew out of urns full of ash,
And marshes be dug from the graves of the past.

Native son––one by one.

Drag it to the ground
On a mountain of fuzz,
In a landslide of sludge,
As pilgrims we trudge
To the weedian land, beyond the sand
Of the hourglass ticking––
Grain
By
Grain.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.