Written by The Caretaker
Sordid crows look upon sordid masses
Breathing nightmares upon them with but a whim
Oh what a notion
To be desired
By this echoing, creeping, growing, lasting, brooding darkness
Soon the feast begins
The tides do change again
I softly take your hand
To become an evil, twisted man
Turn on the masters twin
Subdue the rush
Frost white burial
Death like ceremonial
Passive and extravagant
Contort the will of the fate or destiny or cause or concern or status of world to come
Bleed out the despair
Bleed in the hunger
Feed the madness
Sever the masses
Shape to this wretched crooked throne
Stained in blood and ash
Darkened with age
To affix with this structure so tall and malevolent
To become
Become depraved
Become corrupt
Become wicked and vile
To discern all around you as decrepit and barren
Wake
And totality will overtake the infants
Breeding in the pools of blood
And sweat and tears
Raping the survivors
So they become the last.
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