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The Absence
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Septic Testament
I've seen the rotten masquerade
I've heard the thin veiled vows
I've watched you snap like a filament
In the presence of true resolve
These spells of porous conviction
They forever seem to seep
From the weeping eyes and the tainted trust
Of seasoned liars & lifelong thieves
Lapse into monologue
In the presence of your setting son
With wingless shoulders growing cold
There's no grace left to fall from
So deviate
Into another comatose shade
plastered to another portrait
Of useless human waste
Lapse into monologue
In the presence of your setting son
With wingless shoulders growing cold
There's no grace left to fall from
Beneath me
Coursing through my flesh
I can feel you
Like razors in my veins
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Beneath me
Coursing through my flesh
I can hear it still, In my own voice
You- My cursed architect
Here, I wash away
Spawn of your septic testament
Un-sired, spawn of your septic testament
In the sanctum of sickness
Like father, unlike son
Now
Revel in these necrotic cures
Then shatter to your knees
Groveling at narcotic altars
Where wretched worms always feast
Beneath me
Coursing through my flesh
I can feel you
Like razors in my veins
Beneath me
Coursing through my flesh
I can hear it still, In my own voice
You- my cursed architect
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