Walking
Days spent walking
Chiseling our legs down to our shins
Open up my veins, let the roots grow in
Champion of the sewer in the emperor's new sheep's clothing
Don't burn your rags, you need something to polish your dire vices
Last call
Lily spangled dim lit wanderer,
stale vibrations corrode
Rhythmic bleating of empty chords
corante of every goat and lord
We hum and we moan on stock and bone
for what was and what was never gained
A pell-mell sight from a low born light
A lotus turned to a ceaseless blight
Ten thousand pounds of oppresion
Bear the weight of the crown
"In this world we walk the roof of hell, gazing at the flowers"
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