Word of Unmaking - Tombs Our Only Monuments | Текст песни

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• Word of Unmaking
• Tombs Our Only Monuments

Walking plague, I make a carrion heap of the world
Re-making all in the image of my own rotting guts: I am man.

My touch is bacteria
My hunger is wildfire
My eyes are locusts
I am man

My history: an epitaph gone on too long, a bleating priest trailing off into silence as the last pew empties out
A last light dimmed: a last candle snuffed out: the smell of sweat: an echoing cry - an echo of crying children
So let them cry

And I lay down in the snow: I close my eyes: something great and eternal breathes on

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