song lyrics & minor poems



When night hushes all rude sounds of daylight,
muffled voices and tell-tale moves on the soil draw my attention;
Then – without the slightest compunction –
I pull from under my bed my tools of exhumation…

Who is the young man who steps so boldly in the fields of art?
– I am like some scythe, claiming the fruits of your gardens
You consist only of the principal outlines – and yet, your cheeks are flushed
– For I fervently wish to see the human form stripped in its essential core

Subsequent to every night that skin’s been shed,
the giants creep back under the soil –
my fingers bleed and get swollen
in token of my honesty and toil

De profundis, Crestfallen

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