---

Cold brains,
unmoved,
untouched,
unglued,
alone at last.

No thoughts,
no mind,
to rot
behind
a trail of disasters.

A final the curse,
abandoned hearse,
we ride disowned,
corroded to the bone.

The fields
of green
are bent,
obscene,
I lay upon the gravel.

A worm of hope,
a hangman's rope
pulls me one way or the other.

A final curse,
abandoned hearse,
we write this song,
corroded to the bone.

A bird
of song
is heard
no longer
in the evacuated heavens.

And the drain
is drawn,
and drained
and gone,
and on and on, it doesn't matter.

A final curse,
abandoned hearse,
we rock the salt,
corroded to the bone.

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