There with them is error
|
We are sacrosanct
|
A taunting of ravens to you
|
My swarms have fit the holster
|
My faith burnt every house
|
Like no other manger
|
I am emptier with doubt
|
|
Bare them
|
Sevens
|
Three to a pall
|
Marks the
|
Venom
|
Lush and terminal
|
|
When I became your larvae
|
You fed me from your plates
|
Now my slouch is nervous
|
Sinking by the face
|
Wrinkled by this gravel
|
Skinless trace of time
|
Wear your cobwebs proudly
|
In your cheap and brittle sight
|
My glands emit this carnage
|
These pews bend back your knees
|
|
That uniform it wears you
|
When the ultimatum pleads
|
|
Bare them
|
Sevens
|
Three to a pall
|
Marks the
|
Venom
|
Lush and terminal
|
|
That cesspool it becomes you
|
Just north of the eyebrows
|
Squat the hole for a pucker
|
When the rations go blonde
|
The salted stitch is patient
|
Waiting to engulf
|
There is plasma from this hoax
|
Pretending to be us
|
|
Embalming all the fluids I must I must
|
I prefer to burn it I must I must
|
|
-----------------
|
Vermicide
|
| Mars Volta |
