The symmetry of the devouring devils.
The immaculate.
My bones are crackling through the legitimate angle of the geometry.
One, two, I've never managed it to reach
Three.
Countless of scratches, and windshields have spent for the crafting of this corporate -
Magnum Opus.
My catatonic head, and my forced syllables are now patterned to the gasses, and the anti-matter of -
Sigmund Freud's theoretical dreams.
I have crafted the remains of the day.
The diseases, and the fluidity of human's vain veins are now
Freely floating in the centre of Gaia.
Mother Bhumi, bring your lovers back to life.
Though I'll burn out at the end of the day,
These scratches will never fade away.
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