Cupiditas
Today I shattered my life into a basic state
I see all the tortured pieces that I've worked to create
The air still slithers round my hate
And it reeks of my plague
And I stop
And I think of the games I once played
But they're gone
Turned to ash
Buried under the dust
With a billion rotting dreams and inescapable rust
And I'm dancing barefoot on broken glass
There are 26 shards
And I don't know which one to trust
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm dirty
Drunk on damage
And I don't know what to do
The consciousness of conscience blocks the naïve blues
Like a spring lamb in August
Now it's my turn too
They're all staring from my memories with happy little eyes
Holding happy little hands
And I cannot deny
That I'm reminded of lovers in a cardboard embrace
And in those sugar paper promises I recognise my face
Now their emaciated husks howl out against each burning lie
And the world has shrivelled up
And there is blood against the sky
And our heads are armed with ashes
And their stains strangle down
Into the acid hearts in which we thrash till we drown
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm dirty
Drunk on damage
And I don't know what to do
The consciousness of conscience blocks the naïve blues
Like a spring lamb in August
Now it's my turn too
Imagination melts in my quicklime brain
These barbed words sting me
But I shaped myself in pain
Let these parasites gnaw on my withering veins
Let them savage my skin
Let my sanity drain
But that fucking smile is still stitched onto my face
Like the whispers in my head so firmly stapled into place
Like the endless small change in the gutter outside
Where I gutted my integrity
And tore off all my pride
So I pick all the pieces back up off the rancid floor
They lacerate my fingers
Yet I'm twitching for more
And I know in the dark that I've felt this way before
But then I never know exactly what is real anymore
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm dirty
Drunk on damage
And I don't know what to do
The consciousness of conscience blocks the naïve blues
Like a spring lamb in August
Now it's my turn too
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm so dirty
Drunk on damage
And there's nothing left to do
A shadow of an echo fucked those naïve blues
Like a spring lamb to the slaughter
Now it's my turn too
I see all the tortured pieces that I've worked to create
The air still slithers round my hate
And it reeks of my plague
And I stop
And I think of the games I once played
But they're gone
Turned to ash
Buried under the dust
With a billion rotting dreams and inescapable rust
And I'm dancing barefoot on broken glass
There are 26 shards
And I don't know which one to trust
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm dirty
Drunk on damage
And I don't know what to do
The consciousness of conscience blocks the naïve blues
Like a spring lamb in August
Now it's my turn too
They're all staring from my memories with happy little eyes
Holding happy little hands
And I cannot deny
That I'm reminded of lovers in a cardboard embrace
And in those sugar paper promises I recognise my face
Now their emaciated husks howl out against each burning lie
And the world has shrivelled up
And there is blood against the sky
And our heads are armed with ashes
And their stains strangle down
Into the acid hearts in which we thrash till we drown
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm dirty
Drunk on damage
And I don't know what to do
The consciousness of conscience blocks the naïve blues
Like a spring lamb in August
Now it's my turn too
Imagination melts in my quicklime brain
These barbed words sting me
But I shaped myself in pain
Let these parasites gnaw on my withering veins
Let them savage my skin
Let my sanity drain
But that fucking smile is still stitched onto my face
Like the whispers in my head so firmly stapled into place
Like the endless small change in the gutter outside
Where I gutted my integrity
And tore off all my pride
So I pick all the pieces back up off the rancid floor
They lacerate my fingers
Yet I'm twitching for more
And I know in the dark that I've felt this way before
But then I never know exactly what is real anymore
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm dirty
Drunk on damage
And I don't know what to do
The consciousness of conscience blocks the naïve blues
Like a spring lamb in August
Now it's my turn too
Like a spring lamb standing in an August queue
I'm so dirty
Drunk on damage
And there's nothing left to do
A shadow of an echo fucked those naïve blues
Like a spring lamb to the slaughter
Now it's my turn too
Credits
Writer(s): Vore Complex
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