Endowed with the art of casting names upon its being
The humans claimed dominion over every living fucking thing

Proud as purpose they became to walk the earth as they arraigned
The common creatures caught within the corpus
Cursed, conscious human brain

Every word that's ever written will fall short of its intent
Even spoke or sung or screamed it will betray what they have meant
Language is the heart's lament, a weak attempt to circumvent the
loneliness inherent in the search for permanence

(like all the future ghosts who scratch their names in wet cement)

Demeaning meaning as they shout out at the emptiness
Abstraction is the stake between the anima and the animus
Deflesh the word as scourge of human destiny

Behold the world in other people, life is clarity