without construct how can we map 
this brittle shell encompases a sterile yolk
our shadows are swallowed
I didn’t realized the vacuum could be so white

drowning in static seepage, shall we divide this cancer?
does this not illustrate Golgotha’s allure?
just another misfire, deep cerebral explosions
this old hound got a hammer and anvil

death, much like myself, is a laborer of circumstance
fat tyrants wine, toasting dispicable acts framed in fear
chewing the meat of my own arm, the need to slip bondadge
what good’s another broken, mechanical man

tell me, are my motives now clear?
a propensity to idealize the ruin
I am your incessant, enthusiastic sacrifice
meet me at Golgotha with your spears, tears and fears

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