There’s gonna be a scrap and we cheer, so hear.
The blood of the primordials come to gather the pieces
There’s gonna be a scrap and we dare, so care.
The mud of the immortals gone to scatter the pieces
There’s gonna be a scrap and we ...

The final revelation is revealed.
Found by heart, fouled by tears
The worst fears come before the dawn
Past shadows, future days
A last erase of that collapsing embrace
The blood is beat, the sighs depart
Alas, my heart celebrates its way out


NaaN (Now, always and Never)

Primordial coil rituals my blood
To be sanctified in un-zang nerve-ending to depart
Where you were, I return. Where you burned, I rekindle.
Primordial foil pictures my gods.
To be sacrificed in un-rang soul-mending to unchart
Primordial soil freeze me free


NaaN (Now, always and Never)

Scoring my scars on the daybreak
We head for howlers delight
Scaring the hummingbird’s stalemate
We bed the runners on sight
Scheming our elders of haydays
We rid the hours of blight


NaaN (Now, always and Never)

All that remains is cradling the grave.
Rocking the burial ground that is left to decay.
And still, I say, still your heart’s mourning beat.
For even in defeat, dawn comes to greet some more.
Never wish death, for death wishes you.
Blooming the tombs and reviving the catacombs ...

Exploding.miracle of past unloading
Enrolling fabric of the primal tolling
Feeling through your ratchet as you color your stones red
Imploding destruction of scales decoding
Controlling panic of the final poling.
Falling through your hatchet as you holler your wars dead

NaaN (Now, always and Never)

Nine. I see the light burning to darkness.
All so swiftly. All so blindly.
Eight. I hear the alarm screaming to deafness.
All so widely. All so loudly.
Seven. I taste the medicine spoiling to sickness.
All so queasily. All so badly.
Six. I sense the odour stinking to foulness ...

I'm not bitter, but I am melancholic.
My mind are tears turned to fabric
Reminiscent of the old and the new to turn
Out from the new horrid blackness to a seam
We are not bitter, but we are melancholic.
We are here for the purpose of trash.
Leaving ...

Cynicism. That is the inclination to believe that people are motivated in large by their self-interest and therefore cannot be trusted – at least not initially. I’ve found myself – as I’ve gotten older and encountered many different acquaintances and personal relations in my younger years – that I’ve become ...

See me, I’m a curled up joint of broken reflections
Save me the medicine, I’m lookin’ at you.
Hear me, I’m a howling chorus breaking drums
Save me the medicine, I’m talking to you.
Feel me, I’m sore, bare and cold feeling everything
Save me ...