April night-tyme And we run like mussles through the stagnant nodes of man Blood-bridges lean towards the gaping synapses To disarm the stars within us
Hornet hive-dark Severed wings in vainless beating Buzz out from an inferno of fangs To disarm the stars within us
We should have been So much more by now Too dead inside To even know the guilt
Waining ring-deep A halo of thorns Sips now down in sheets of sharp silver To disarm the strs within us
We should have been So much more by now Too dead inside To even know the guilt
