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letra de loathe - burials

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sell your soul
so h-ll has nothing to grip
shed your skin
and the festering stench of it
cellar dwelling, begging, leeching of life
a man of no welcome home

one hand outstretched with best intentions inlaid
the other around your back with a blade
time to grow eyes in the back of your head
and an owl’s neck

i don’t knw why you aren’t running, yet
i live to be a rope around your neck
the cruel sun that beats down on your head
the voice that tells you “do it” at the ledge
maggot ethic, look for entries in flesh
vulture minded, keep to craning your neck
keep your distance when i’m bringing the k!ll in
you can pick your fill from what’s left

there is no word in any tongue here on earth
no vile pejorative slur
that might surmise the fetid reek of your life
the husks of friendship you bear
and i’ve been trying to just to pick out a line
some clever placement of words
i guess some fouler things don’t warrant the effort
you can make do with “worthless f-cking c-nt”

oh, you’ll be running for the rest of your days
living buried for the want of some shade
but there’s no distance you can cover
or depth you can plumb that will save you
i will devour your world

splintered trust like bone, the break doesn’t heal right
the parasites eat the marrow inside
are you at home here?
gut full of viscera
vulture
maggot
c-nt

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