These pages are a wasteland as far as I can see
I can never stop the sickness seeping into me
I've lost my way between the hours of my final days

I slip through the cracks of consciousness from my body where I lay

While a heart devoid of demons resides in the blessed cynic

Sit and watch every mountain in your mind become monolithic
Beloved and violent, the ebb and flow of parting tides
Iridescent and timeless, chasing lost causes through the night

Following my affliction to the depths of myself
The darkest corners of existence with the curses I am dealt


A word to the faithful - blind and vague, tall like Rome
Your church is a glass house, fragile empire
You're just fools casting stones


And if your plan is in fact my passing, then ease my weary mind
Tell me the place they speak of after is a heaven in my eyes

In the throes of my decay, between the ceiling and the sky
Every fibre of my being hopes you weren't the whitest lie


If a church is a coward's coma, wrap this man in arms and lies
I've been running from death forever, and you're the perfect place to hide.