Interiors
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Lyrics
Fell a victim in the Houses of Auto-da-Fe
You pull the keystone from my tattered home reticula
Erase the footsteps from my harlot croon ephemera
Ambassadors of blue grew retrograde in hollow tombs
I'd leave the riverbed but these trapdoors are closing in again
Take me under again
We drink the blood of the holy ghost
To make it seem so we're not alone
Before the choir sings of contrition
From these webs weaved in attrition
Before these webs weaved in attrition
And just when the end is near
Don't fret to terry long
With great zeal spread your heart thin
And raise your glass to the Pope of Hell
Don't keep him waiting long
Time is a withered shell
My only son what's left to burn
My only son take care of the ashes in your urn
My only son what have you learned
Rich gits wax poor when the giver is unconcerned
And there was an illustration of catacombs
This visitor has found a home
These hypergraphic illustrations
Left behind a pale of anxious interference
Where the bodies now reside
With this crippled presentation
We define the role of our beloved patron
To reveal uncertain eyes