Razors scrape obtuse angels into manageable lines
Nostrils crusted with manifold millennia of dried up mortification
Of spiritual fabrication
Cells forming the biggest cell of all;
Body of death, true burden
So much make believe
Throw in your hands for the abyssal disco
All the right shapes chucked into all the wrong holes
In fact, we'll do worse than put a match to your faces
We'll have your writhing, you cunts Do you hear?
Myth piled upon myth / spiritual plague pit
Seething maggot balls / fuel for future tombs
Twisting mass a'roil with turning worms
Keep your maggots away from my soul
Glance around for the shroud How's your fitting? Dancer with ghosts
Spinning so madly around
Down amongst the dead
All our graves walked all over
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