There with him, his error We are sacrosanct I'm taunting arraignments to you My swatch had fit the holster My faith burned every house Like no other manger I am emptier without Bear them, servants Three to a pall Marks the venom Lushing terminal When I became a larva You fed me from your plate Now my slouch is nervous Sinking by the face Wrinkled by this gravel Skinless trace of time You wear cobwebs proudly In your cheap and brittle sighs My glands emit this carnage These pews bend back our knees That uniform it wears you When the ulcer made him bleed Bear them, servants Three to a pall Marks the venom Lushing terminal That cesspool, it becomes you, Just north of the eyebrows Squat their hole full of pucker When their ashes go blonde The salted stitch is patient We're waiting to engulf There's plasma from this hoax Pretending to be us Embalming all the fluids I must, I must I prefer to burn them I must I must Embalming all the fluids I must I must I prefer to burn them I must I must Bear them, servants Three to a pall Marks the venom Lushing terminal
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