Album: The Judas Table
Hate — venerating hate
Begs to be repaid,
And never seems to fade.
Spite — consummating spite;
The medicated bile
That keeps us on our way with the worms.
Outside, caught up in this killing tide —
Open the gates and I get blown away.
Gone, pride, sold out to this chilling shrine,
With no way to break the collars of those chains.
But I can change the sulphur in the vein;
The pressure in the flame
In reverence if I can murder the killer in me.
Change the mother in the snake;
The message in the brain
In reverence if I can murder the killer in me.
Burn — I’d love to watch you burn;
Shed your hot black skin,
And run from your own flames.
Waste — a lifetime I could waste;
While away the days,
Just dreaming of your face.
The wrong hand is giving in,
In times of change.
The wrong hand is giving in.