a preamble on genocide
war of tongues besides myself
pretty flies in the air of july
i saw the train pass the fence by
by mark they killed him
to set your stone on the nation of man
i will kill this bliss of masters
making beautiful wonders in ages of hate
kiss me on my chapped, bleeding lips
and make a machine of me
wonder on the sunder of fall
autumn leaves crumble beneath weight
a faint lie of a forgotten saint
sleep on the cold floor
make this your eternal tomb