1. |
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(bow before her, our mother of vengeance/virus)
cross yourself
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2. |
Cancerous Clientele
07:08
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3. |
A Distant Star
16:12
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the tribulations of the body
the fragility of the body
the ache and whiplash of the body
the fear of the body
the pleasure - devoid of the body
the empty void that is my body
the herecy of the human body
the contempt and loathing of the body
the mirror and eyesight present the body
the recoiling terror of the body
the remnants of the body
the hard scar tissue of the body
the idealization of the body
the nitemare reality that is your body
molestation and denial of the heavenly body
the hermetical lie that is the body
as above, so below,
torn to pieces upon fresh snow
a pillar of roses rises up inside my body
an altar of old gods, ancient ichor fills my body
as i am dragged through the streets,
as i am dragged through burning embers
as i am emasculated and beheaded
as i bleed over the throne of sorrow
as the life divorces my body
i am whole
and i am whole
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4. |
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on the streets you make your living. but when was the last time you sucked a cock? when was the last time you looked into a mirror to see that you're still you, still beautiful? and the clientele doesn't line up like they used to. the semen doesn't flow like it used to; nor does the money. when was the light time you felt good. you crawl into cars within the night, and you take it like you were born to be fucked. you were the best in the world. at one time they adored you for your very pink flesh and very soft cheeks, but you saw the poison in their eyes. and you heard their voices. the boys don't come around and you wonder why; they won't pay for death. but you've already got them - you're a walking fucking plague. you come to realize your nature, and howl into oblivion: "I'LL NEVER STOP FUCKING!" so you popped the ketamine, and you swallowed the MDMA and you dressed like you're eighteen. but you fuck like you're dying . . . to crush this world. your identity is: a deadly desire for cock, more than ever before. the old adage works: you are what you fuck. in every bathroom mirror you lazily write in red lipstick: WELCOME TO THE AIDS CLUB! welcome to death! and when they threaten you with violence you'd only laugh, for you know it's coming. they're only bringing you closer to your death. you have become fear, your own destruction. "bite the pillow, faggot". you cripple new york, you cripple LA; you clean yourself in innocent blood. you drink the blood of a virgin. you sell your soul to satan. black plague in the asshole of a white twink. deathwish / deathfuck, death on your breath and death on your bleeding gums. apocalyptic handjobs. that's all you ever were. erudite fucking beauty corpse
(blowjobs from the grave)
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5. |
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Immortal Cavalcade Tallahassee, Florida
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