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Goretex

de Marathon

The young are immoral the old are all wise youth always lost on these
Bastards plaguing land and sea-tapping endlessly better unborn than
Servitude backs on our latitude. i hope to outlive beauty and grace
Left with only human waste discussing matters of our place cloaks and
Robes set ablaze. praying to stand degrading a heartland dollhouse
Castles line our eyes lost in our minds. plastering each and every
Finger inside and out building the stage for hollow plays. forgiving
Ourselves in one great epilogue this is pathetic dialogue. swimming
In phrases waiting for placement reciting directions to a bleeding
Heartland. where masks are skin sewn shadows fed to tyrants the
Noise of drums beats down our existence to nothing. these bastards
Are forced to grin and bear it we are all cursed with ease this pathetic
Dialogue has turned into my epilogue i apologise for nothing

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