Lest we stand on the precipice
Longitudinal streams of life-like imminence
Ground up flesh and mush in a conquest
For cancerous growths.
At last
At our behest
Drown in fallacies and capillaries,
Venomous strains left to decipher
Rotten fruit.
We all will be mushed to mush (now) 2x
Hold your tongue, safe a last,
But not of dreams of joyous pasts
It passed, and fretfully, surreptitiously,
The serpents lay
Above meandering
The fate of myriads of cells carrying aeons of death.
Late love at last, late love at last...
Lard and regress is the fate of sloths which is all we are.
Pink softened grease carrying lust,
Scions become the graves of torn off ancestry, immortal fear
Imprisoned in my mind is the answer to the questions never asked
As if you could even fucking conceive
(hahahahahahaha etc)
We become, lest we endure (now) mush and motherfucking manure. 2x
Drown (3x) leave the bucket half full.
Lard and regress is the fate of sloths which is all we are (pink softened misu-misu)
Scions become the graves of torn off ancestry, immortal fear
Imprisoned in my mind is the answer to the questions never asked
As if you could even fucking conceive
(hahahahahahaha etc)