Onslaught of a flood on the fatal day

Crushing like the dead weight of a fallen deity

Well could it be just the luck of the draw

Or just - perhaps - vicious - circle - hemlock

The culprit is my anarchive of a motherfucking caustic vibe

Imbalanced adorned by my decay of faith

Relentless siege hammering a titans anvil

Perched upon a fault line revel in this mode of hate

Crouching in a clotted corner

Bloody blade in hand

Pushed and pulled to stretch beyond what used to think as man

I'll finger paint a curse of pain on canvas made of flesh

And ponder soaked in liars blood just who will be my next

Crouching in a clotted corner

Bloody blade in hand

Recounting acts of violence hate and pain

I've dealt so grand

Lives and limbs strewn all about

And elsewhere more of the same

Crossed just one too many time to be as they think sane

You fall from the grace of this one life

Fall from the grace for one last time

Fall from grace