Show me your broken soul
Spew out your disease
It's something that I've wanted
It's something that I need
For love of filth, and soul-stoned lust
You can't let go, you cultivate disease
And that's okay, 'cause I'm sick just like you
Sordid thoughts and memories are lackluster,
an empty-space between
We're monsters and we don't know why
But that's how it goes
And seriously, it's lost on me
Casting a stone
The story always ends so fucking bleak
You and I, eternally chained to a lie told by need
Wanting and needing the selfish feeding
Effortless breathing, constant repeating
Taunting and pleading, the gluttons eating
Euphoric seeding, watching the T.V., haunting the grieving
Sever the wicked hand, spit out the waste!
Kill for a crumb and then die from the taste!
No more room for piece of shit dead heads
A self-fulfilling prophecy that fills the void
just long enough to fill the need to be received
when all you needed was your own…
