Pale faced with thoughts against nature

death to future                   of all music and art

we’re all buying into our coffins

unmarked and buried above ground

with no ceremony or prays to the lost prophets

and still we buy into the “INDUSTRY” we all want to call home

they’ll take skin from bone

they’ll cast the first stone

after one word spoken in derision or so called blasphemy

to the poison suits we put our hands in, to hold and to become home

empty suits

empty message

forgetting about the masses

remember you sold your soul for a dott’d line

now the razor cuts fine

for only a dime of your time and you will be owned

never to be of your true mind