1. PILE OF DEAD HORSES

Drop out. Repress. Dig in. Regress
I’m purging friends and backing out
Left alone in your post mourning doubt
I never kept in touch because I couldn’t bear the thought
of the mal-de-mer inside your head that couldn’t be un bought
Drop out. Repress. Dig in . Repress.
Shut in. Eat pills. Feel worth in your own reflection.


2. ENDLESS DRONE

I’m eating my own words and begging with lies
Circumventing reason for another month of trudging onward
Hard truth. Impoverished youth
Trading empty jars for empty promises and deeper ulcers
Can’t buy myself out. can’t ever escape
I'm just another slave bound to a fucking stick
I’m pushing my hands deeper into the mud
When they say it’s hard all over, it’s the fucking truth
I’m weeping into the gutter
I see the ladder and fucking shudder
If you work to the bone for fifty more years
the pension puts a stall to all your deepest fears
Hard truth. impoverished youth.
Trading empty jars for empty promises and deeper ulcers
Can’t buy myself out. can’t ever escape
I’m just another slave bound to a fucking stick
The doors aren’t open. they’re rusted shut
The way is closed. the path is gone.
I’m relenting to the corporate drone
Pushing my nose to the motherfucking grindstone
Splinters upon splinters
Wedging in deep
I try to pull them out with my worn down teeth
My periphery is narrowed like a god damned mule
Workhorse of the wicked, of the trite and cruel
I’m relenting to the drone
The endless drone


3. THE BED IS BURNING

The marriage bed is burning,
and I don’t hear anything at all.
My diction is failing,
the seams are splitting open on everything that we knew.
Disgust and distain pirouette in violent coitus.
Emotive backlash. Shit titan stressor. Erode me.
My own ceaseless thought, pedaling in circles.
There are no walls that can contain
the bleak doubt that rests inside of us.
I can smell the mantle burning,
the wood is screaming and splitting open.
The white mare isn’t leading me anywhere,
ash and soot is all that I have left.


4. RAT KING

Contention. Eyes listless in the swell of aging flesh,
constantly haunted by reflections of the life you could never lead.
You’re not climbing any ladder. You’re binding in forevermore.
There are woodworms eating through
everything that defines you as you.
There are holes in every aspect of your current being,
it’s a failing institution and a lack of egress.
Now you move more like a spider, bound like a filthy rat.
At the end of this road, you will find nothing.
I can see it and I can feel it. Loosening the hinges on reality.


5. THE WHITE MARE

The head bows and breaks,
leading me in dark circles.
There was an opus we used to sing,
of which my maladroit throat can no longer bring.
The white mare. She follows me still.
The head bows and breaks.
The pain comes deep. Fuck the pain right back.
Leading me in dark circles forever.


6. DREGS OF PLUTO

Eyes leering inward. Looking back on all that was.
What was will be. What was there will never be again.
Human conditioning has led me down the wrong path.
Death is not a door. Time is not a window.
Let go. Release from this torment.
It’s almost four in the morning, I can never sleep.
There’s a light in my room and a light on the street.
There’s a wash of color, intangible still.
I’m struggling with the memories that the present cannot fill.
My open mouth is full of dregs,
I'm swallowing the years and its breaking my legs.
Can’t move on, the river banks swell.
The eyes convey the reason that the tongue could never tell.
Let go. Release from this torment.
Numb your mind.


7. BLACK IRON

Everyone gets lost in the wilderness sometimes,
but these woods are turning to brick and grime.
Try thinking of life existing outside.
A sky that isn't filled with steel and plaster.
Day in. Day out. Day in. Day out.
These animals have only base desires,
after being stripped of their spirit and fire.
Their rotting bones and their gaping jaws,
they're weeping alone in the bathroom stalls.
I can't help but blend into this institution,
so far gone in this industrial revolution.
Ambition erodes down to basic needs.
Gone are the days of my existential greed.
These aching joints all blend into machinery,
endless tension compounding my humility.
I know they only think of me as another failing product line.
Day in. Day out. Day in. Day out.


8. ROOTS OF EARTH ARE CONSUMING MY HOME

“We have each other"
Vulgar fictions of a callow iris.
Purpose is lost.
Heat rises and the foundation looms.
Humidity will swallow the domicile and the ties that bind.
and roots of Earth will consume my home,
under the lonely moon,
and the stars that will never have any memory of us.
The stone will crack,
the windows will splinter under the weight of time.
and as the bed burns,
our tongues and hands will be reclaimed by dirt.
and roots of earth will consume our home.


9. PISCES LEGS

Corroded enamel and worn out knees.
the distance from waking to dying
As they walk they whisper to the Earth,
whispering the riddles of jackals.
"Here are my children, I have nothing more to give"
Constellations forming on their frames
There are whispers inside their cells,
begging to be set free.
Feed the old to the dirt.
Feed the dirt to the dogs.
The air is pregnant with the empty carapace of all thats left.
The empty carapace of all thats left.


10. THE OARS ARE BROKEN

(Instrumental)


11. AFFIRMATION OF NOTHING

The wheels of this machine will continue to roll forward,
because individual choice is but illusion and farce.
Reality is subjective, there is no truth.
We are pressing feet into a soil that will never leave a trace.
Bring nothing. Take nothing.
Born as sheep. Die as sheep.
You are trapped by the world
that has surrounded and engulfed you.
We are cogs in this beast until the day we rot.
It's a grid of mass delusion that you'll never escape.
We are pressing feet into a soil that will never leave a trace.
Born as sheep. We die as sheep.


12. DICHOTOMY

Hands quake in ceaseless vibration in view of all that was and all that will be.
Crystalline in it's resplendence. Repugnant in it's ugliness.
The dichotomy of all that is lush and rotten.
Tincture of lament, burden of empathy.
We weep in guilt.
Thy coven, denied. Thy vessel, deserted.


13. VESSEL DESERTED

I've made it months, even years in solitude's embrace,
and Nothing has shown me what I cannot create.
Stuck on this compendium of mortality, a line without a flaw.
I can never bring the life back to his withered breast.
Dead at 18 years, now my head's a fucking mess.
Everyone is waiting for the end of the line, immutable truth.
There is nothing that can take what is dead.
There is nothing that can take what is dead and make it green.
There is nothing that can take what is dead and convince it to grow.
Vessel is deserted.
Capillaries dry.
The world soldiers onward.
The line is absolute.
Dirt holds no sway over me.


14. COVEN OF THE LARYNX

The larynx croaks inward devotion.
An existence hewn from varicose flesh.
Palatal tones pass dimly outward
from a slurred and careworn wretch's mouth.
Bereft of love, self inflicted.
The molded image of a crippled whelp.
Marked with a benign crow's foot
and wallowing in placidity.
and from the same loam, I was borne and cut.
A wicked lich, spiraling senseless.
Caustic pariah. Pitch smeared visage.
Boring through you.


15. THROBBING LUNG FIBER

Glowing hearts truly glow as marrow cooks and boils through wire thin fractures
tensed by plangent torridity.
Charred bodies marred in undersized beds,
reaching for their mothers in vacuous pain.
Eyes shine, wax and wane.
Cherub arms snap as laden boughs in the heat.
Forty years of unbending faith unwinding.
Stagger in the wondrous smell of burning hair.
Gas escapes from withering cavities.
Nerves howl and ache in such sweet melody.
Inhale ash. Exhale lung fiber.
Eyes shine, wax and wane.
Cherub arms snap as laden boughs in the heat.
Forty years of unbending faith unwinding.
Stagger in the wondrous smell of burning hair.
God bless.


16. INDIGENCE AND GUILT

Jaundiced skin pulled taught over bones,
worn as thin as opaque papyrus.
Scrap and pull at empty ends as the constant din of static swells.
Methadone gasp in bitter silence, unrequited and unbeknownst.
Gaping cavern to swollen lymph nodes.
Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest.
A goliath, a Judas, a hellion, invidious.
Indigent mudlark, cadaverous dweller.
C'est la vie, c'est la mort.
There's no picking up the pieces when your back is pushed against the wall.
No climbing back into the grace of a society with hooded eyes.
Rest your head on callous pavement, charity and love are farce.
Thousands of eyes gaze right through you, an occulus to their own indifference.
C'est la vie, c'est la mort.
Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest.


17. EMBRACE

Probing in the sickly heat of the humid night.
Aching.
Lidless eyes in the dark, wide and omniscient,
coax along the cadaverous mass of ligament and hair.
Raid in the street.
Stolen innocence. Godless species.
Lowly tryst. Lecherous moon.
Fucked to death in the street.
No meaning.
No answers.
No God left to save your soul.
No meaning.
No answers.
The end.


18. THE LORD IS MY LIGHT

Hatred grows in inches.
This rotten body, this rotten world, these putrid soles
won't take me.
Lay these shit bones down to rest.
In regret and resplendence.
A singularity, a moving point.
Humming and quaking.
Broken, in stasis.
Devoid. Malcontent.
Split wrists and pale eyes.
A being repellent of life.
Hatred grows.
I want out of this empty hull.
There is no life here for my wretched soul.
This rotten body, this rotten world, these putrid soles
They won't take me, but I can take myself.
I can take myself.
I want out.


19. BONE CORAL AND BRINE

Split skin spread in fetid lacework
Babylon in crusted sea brine.
In opulence, he weeps and slumbers.
Asseteague son, long begotten.
Cryptic jeremiad in circles,
melange of ruinous copse.
Self destructive self denial,
pleasure wasted from within.
They moan, they whisper, they shake when they breathe.
They crawl, they weep, they croak when they speak.
They moan, they whisper, they shake when they breathe.
With new orifices made, they shudder with relief..
They moan.


20. RUDIMENTS OF MUTILATION

"Come thou fount of every blessing"
Ichor of the human pulse.
Flow forth with no abandon.
Suffering tortured beasts.
Empathy dulled under ages of wearing,
through wailing and howling,
incessantly blaring.
Murdering lambs, unknowing.
Eating the hearts of your children.
Burying mothers, alive.
Wandering in contempt of life.


21. IN CONTEMPT OF LIFE

A dead sun burns over a grey and blue iris.
Slumbering no longer, sinking feverish before a lunar face.
A dead sun shatters us all.
Murder lambs, unknowing.
Eat the hearts of your children.
Bury mothers, alive.
Wander, in contempt of life.
A dead sun shatters.