Faceless, numberless days, gray isolation
Time featureless crushing hope
Intense corrupted Bliss moments
Nothing, the Machine
Everything grinds us down
Escape until we seep, Nothing, the blackened soil

Flying in elegant circles, drift through time and space
Crumble under the weight of sheer intense bliss
Where everything is nothing and nothing - everything
It is a meaningless dream from which we need to escape?
Tear at the psyche
To bring us down
Where everything is
nothing
And nothing everything

Delve through the ether, drown in emptiness
I need nothing, I want it all
I need nothing I want the world to crawl
Somewhere in its depths
Lies what we have been looking for
I need nothing I want it all
I need nothing I want the world to crawl

Flying in elegant circles, drifting through time
Crumble under the weight of sheer intense bliss
Where everything is nothing and nothing - everything
It's a meaningless dream
From which we need to escape?
Tear at the psyche to bring us down
The machine rolls through town

It's cold (so fucking cold)
A sordid trip to the vowels of creation

The seductive wasteland, marrow of the world
That gentle melancholy that so endeared in times past
It seems to hang with an unnerving ease
I've been here before but now it seems there is no way out

There is now way out but down, the ante chambers to nothing
The terror scratching at the surface of sanity

Eyes are plucked
The jackals are coming
Hands are bleeding
Raw from the scratching
Freedom lies
The depths of
Lies

Freedom lies
Through the ether

Elemental nausea
Free to stagnate
Grinding elation
Oppressive opiates
Residue of flesh
Through the ether

The dregs of the morning drift by greeting us with leaden winged despair
So come down
It clasps with crooked hands and tears at the torso, ripping the flesh
So come down

It leaves but the scum, filth of the earth, stranded poisonous
Soak up the arid wasteland through every fiber of my being
Hold on to the high crashing wave, it may be our only chance of escape
So come down, come down with me, it may be our only chance of escape

Lurking in the shadows psychological self loathing violent desire
Slaughter the first born the debris of joy it's all that's left
But this is my only chance of escape the crashing wave
So I'll hold on until I crumble under the weight

A stagnant pit of twisted bones and contorted features wrapped in flesh
Yet stranded to wallow between the walls of destruction
A vacuum created by the desolation and loss of hope a sigh

A sigh a fatal glance to the fading pain that crouches in the corner
For the night is upon us, the triumphant return of joy
Immortality, intensity the need to escape
It seems to be coming through in waves the need to escape

And beneath its swell the search for absolution continues it's downward spiral
I wade through the fifth, terminal hope

Its infectious this murder
Its infectious, this murderous circus

A figure of despair staring into the nothingness, lost among life suckers. So Small standing by the ocean sensing the rain, worn out from grieving through a storm of rage. I have succumbed to sorrow, the hoary darkness and the all-consuming silence, for I had such hopes and dreams, dreams that fell like vapors through the summer air. I had such thoughts, thoughts that would crush mountains and blunt the very daggers to my heart and yet the mere sliver of
hope sent to the corner to be lost among life's pain.... immortal. My bones are weary; weary from this malignant mortality we hold on to with such grim despair that it becomes all consuming. In the glowering sickly green depths of my misery I've drank deep textures and grotesque ecstasy it's elementary splendor reminded of the labyrinthine intricacies of being, the squalor, the bewildering diversities and its lonely existence. A journey through a half dream, each step a death. To slip through the cracks unnoticed or pause
and question the meanderings of time. The gray vastness we hold onto, The glum adhesive that binds us through. No!

Hark! A football, the march of death
A hollow call to arms from the grave
A curator of dead souls brings us down
Is it a shadow of life or just some vision?
Apocalyptic dreams
Hark! A curator of our dead souls

Who is it that walks so solemnly through the graves?
Is it a shadow or just some vision?
Apocalyptic dream
Tracing patterns to bring us down
Who is it that walks?
The March of Death

Fall

Somewhere between the chaos and sulphurous light
Into that strange arena where attraction and repulsion meet
Where love and hate divides, only to meet at a point

Aeons spent dragging the mortal trash through a slow existence, its worn me
down
I've emptied my veins into the earth for the last time as the weight of death
Creeps through the silence - nothing perpared me for this

The space where my misery breahes has worn me down
I've emptied my veins into the earth for the last time

I've drank from the depths of the world
And poured my cup on the heavens
The dull playground
Between the chaos and explosive stillness
Where light and dark serve a purpose
To which humanity must bend

The trouble is I though we'd live forever
The truth is we were dead before we were born
If I wake again it will be in hell
If I see you again it will be in hell

Desire and suffering, the source of our delusions
They are only the extreme points to which we bend
Where the need for excess brings balance
No more torture, no more pain

It's pouring through my veins
No more torture, no more pain