It’s cold (so fucking cold)
A sordid trip to the wowels of creation
The seductive wasteland, marrow of the world
That gentle melancholy that so endeared in times past
It seems to hang with an unnerving ease
I’ve been here before but now it seems there is no way out
There is now way out but down, the ante chambers to nothing
The terror scratching at the surface of sanity
Eyes are plucked
The jackals are coming
Hands are bleeding
Raw from the scratching
Freedom lies
The depths of
Lies
Freedom lies
Through the ether
Elemental nausea
Free to stagnate
Grinding elation
Oppressive opiates
Residue of flesh
Through the ether