Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit
Cold filial finger
Prick my heart no longer
With thy incessant nail
I can hasten my step no further
Seasons and moons have passed
Silent and hidden from the busy traveler
They have passed full in flavor
Billowing with the air of birth
The air of birth
They have passed
And you have not
A generation of bones
Have formed in the warm womb
Of motherhood
And decayed
The dusty remains
In the lone sepulcher
The bones on which children cut their teeth
Have been barren
Prodigies unnamed
Have contributed their verse and time has turned the page
And yet you are still
By my side
How much more can I endure?
How much more can I create?
From Genesis to Revelation
I have exhausted
My abysmal wells of discontent translated into art
And of creative imagination
My fecundity is dry
And yet you still prick me
With your quill
Draining out the last drops of fiery blood from my life vein
And I can give no more
So use me up
Like the natives
With the wooly bison
Leaving no rib or organ unemployed
No thought or invention devoid of reader
Even after I am soil under young men's souls
Let me live on
Let me live on
Prick my heart no longer
With thy incessant nail
I can hasten my step no further
Seasons and moons have passed
Silent and hidden from the busy traveler
They have passed full in flavor
Billowing with the air of birth
The air of birth
They have passed
And you have not
A generation of bones
Have formed in the warm womb
Of motherhood
And decayed
The dusty remains
In the lone sepulcher
The bones on which children cut their teeth
Have been barren
Prodigies unnamed
Have contributed their verse and time has turned the page
And yet you are still
By my side
How much more can I endure?
How much more can I create?
From Genesis to Revelation
I have exhausted
My abysmal wells of discontent translated into art
And of creative imagination
My fecundity is dry
And yet you still prick me
With your quill
Draining out the last drops of fiery blood from my life vein
And I can give no more
So use me up
Like the natives
With the wooly bison
Leaving no rib or organ unemployed
No thought or invention devoid of reader
Even after I am soil under young men's souls
Let me live on
Let me live on
Credits
Writer(s): Mark Barrionuevo
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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