[Verse 1]

The simple slave

In sweat-soaked sheets

Aims his shackles

And cuts off his hands

[Verse 2]

The simple slave

In smoggy pantheon

Aims for release

And cuts off his head

[Verse 3]

Apollo falls asleep behind the wheel

A scar reopens to a wound and pleads in a whimper for infection

And now this great dying beast, that I've chained round my neck

In a torrent of feathers, a face of paper cuts

Fragile tributaries of blood stain powder white wings

Framed and catalogued for collection

[Verse 4]

The simple slave

In fallow fields

Shrugs off his burden

And falls asleep