Shorn of apocryphal pride, the locks falls predicting strife
Cranium exposed, denial of aesthetic
Push it a little farther
All of this burnt to ashes, all of this torn to rags
I don't know what the fuck have I become?
Synapses snapping mortality decimated
Breakdown whiskey shifts hate into overdrive
Realizing it's murder of the self so clean
Hand reaches out desecrates impunity
Ripping away foundation's identity replacing with shame
Transgression mythologized, indiscretions immortalized
Anger inflamed with dry rot, pushing towards severance
What a bloody mess
Visiting dark sites unknown, grief lands like a ton of bricks
All of this burnt to ashes, all of this torn to rags