Until this thick burden
Eats all of you dry.
I remain the living
torn shrapnel of paint.
I've seen where we should be.
And I'm not alone.
Here in this garden
truth will be shown.
Before all the roaches.
Before all the lies.
Before all the temples.
Call blood from the sky.
I am no section.
I am not whole.
Where is your face?
This shadows a forge.
Yet I have defected.
And call out your threat.
In brown eyed seduction.
You'll fear what you get.