creeping like frost
as slow as grave moss
like drowning in dry
oceans of dust

i taste the wreckage of crumbling faces
i know the pale thing in the darkest of places
i remember blood from the thighs of a mother
as everything is eaten by another

how much more must we bleed her
i cut their throats while they slept
i wept
i peel back my skull for you

slow desolation like a funeral procession
the lovely one screams like she;s caught between stations
i eat the razor, a mouthful of flesh
sweating this blackness,
i am shitting this cold death.

love is rotting on the vine
dissolving in polluted sunshine
point me at the sky.

music: british sea power; fear of drowning
mood: yuppie