I am up   To my neck   In the shit of mankind   What belongs to the world now   Belongs to the flies      Octophobic translations   And 8, by 8, the window    Withers farther from the soul   Your soul, in a ring, on a spoon   Humans clinging   Entrapment of shadows   The webs and the echoes   That pushpin the mildew   They don't have the courage   To know the things you do.      That little thing you kept inside   To be sure you'd always know   The man you know is never coming home   And it's sad to think   They'll never really know.      Translate the parting duo    That is a chemical reaction   And a widow   And weep, by tribes   And tongues   The universe has come so far   To only come undone?      Well this is the answer    You've been waiting for child   Transmissions cut to clearance   And the skin is wild      I hope you fucking choke on your own spit   The dialect, the derelict   This babel's past the limit    And I've carried off your cure    For far too    Long      Perhaps it's time for you to suffer some (x8)