1. |
Cultivating
01:16
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2. |
Trier
01:37
|
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Your daughter, a lantern,
a beacon of hope.
She lights up the night,
gives the darkness no home.
Her embers extinguish all suspicions.
We do this for the hallowed,
to wash our hands of her.
We're human,
we're fearful,
we're insecure.
This is how it's always been,
we're human,
this is just what we do.
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3. |
New Cysts
02:43
|
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If ignorance is bliss
then bliss will be the death of me.
It's time to shed this chrysalis,
once again,
one more release.
Shatter this moth wing skin
to build an effigy.
Spitting tongues,
pulling cut teeth.
Another visceral catharsis,
cultivating new cysts.
Septic is the axe
I drive on through Siberian seas.
Pulling this from my chest,
I give to you
my effigy.
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