birds slam into puddles   wings pouring in arsenals of disease   the stalemate of storms   says i'm sick with a cure   that looks like belief      celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill   but mercy never knew that shadow of ours   intoxicated under the influence of flames   the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain      pangea is restrung   and odin's breath steals us   from our prison's pores   sedated in swarms   a market of fleas   claustrophobes and thieves      celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill   but mercy never knew that shadow of ours   intoxicated under the influence of flames   the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain      and i'm eyed by the eyes that i'm eyeing with mine   am i born   the ephemeral song of your biblical wrongs   counts the strays      celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill   but mercy never knew that shadow of ours   intoxicated under the influence of flames   the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain      much too drunk with the thinking   you're forgetful of blinking at the sun   now it's your loss that you're lost   as you cross hell's alleys where you left your cross      a brain washed and fried   it wrinkles and dries   a derelict sage grabs at the brain   and shoves it inside   a heart hacked and thawed   from the horrors it saw   a pretense pretends   there might be an end   to impulsive flaw      sweet monuments mourn what's   ensnared in every throat   we do our breathing til it gets too cold   elude the air that knocks on   these psychotropic doors   we keep on building til it gets too old   sweet monuments mourn what's   ensnared in every throat   we do our breathing til it gets too cold      the ruins of fallen kingdoms   they're waiting to break my fall   intent upon the instincts   content without them all      the hallway ends upon a ledge   the lights go on, cause life goes on   begin again      birds slam into puddles   wings pouring in arsenals of disease   the stalemate of storms   says i'm sick with a cure   that looks like belief      celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill   but mercy never knew that shadow of ours   intoxicated under the influence of flames   the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain