I Know My Rites

You mold the soreness of your parts
And hold the strain just like a cross
Blessed Heartache

I'm serrated in a milk bath
Tearing at your Hemingway
Eat and Partake

I think his body is a tomb
To think, a grave bore from a womb
Mess And Softness

Siege your whisper near my faults
And shake the plates of wailing walls
Crash and undress
Beat my best bet

Blessed and haunted



Credits
Writer(s): Thomas Cornelius
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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