Shorn of apocryphal pride
The locks falls predicting strife
Cranium exposed
Denial of aesthetic
Push it a little farther
All of this burnt to ashes
All of this torn to rags

I don't know
What the fuck have I become?
Synapses snapping
Mortality decimated
Breakdown whiskey
Shifts hate into overdrive
Realizing
It's murder, it's Murder, it's murder
Murder of self so clean

I don't know
What the fuck have I become?
Hand reaches out
Desecrates impunity
Ripping away
Foundation's identity
Replacing with shame

Transgression mythologized
Indiscretions immortalized

Anger inflamed with dry rot
Pushing towards severance
What a bloody mess
Visit dark sites unknown
Grief lands like a ton of bricks
All of this burnt to ash
All of this torn to rags...