Suffering Bastard
by Burn the Priest· from Self-Titled
Shorn of apocryphal pride, the locks falls predicting strife. Cranium exposed, denial of aesthetic. Push it a little further. All of this burnt to ashes, all of this torn to rags. I don't know wghat the fuck have I become? Synapses snapping mortality decimated. Breakdown whiskey shfts hate into overdrive. Realizing it's murder of self so clean. Hand reaches out desecrates impunity. Ripping away foundation's identity replacing with shame. Transgressions mythologized, indiscretions immortalized. Anger inflamed with dry rot, pushing towards severance. What a bloody mess. Visiting dark sites unknown, grief lands like a ton of bricks. All of this burnt to ashes, all of this torn to rags...