Songtexte An Epoch Ellipsis - The Amenta

Two wings of the choir
Crushed by Te Deum and Dies Irae.
Rioting crowds clamber,
Not with a whimper but a whine.

A poor cur's lapse.

Square dwellers begging for change,
An arid spring.
Cold, unmarked, grave.
Birds flown to entropical climes.
Sore ire cysts sick eyes saw.

Poised upon collapse
A poor cur's lapse.
And with a pauper's lisp
In slips apocalypse.

The lying and the lamb:
Unlikely bedfallows.
Cloistered bones, now free,
Hung from streetlights, gibbering.
Tongue-tied tastemakers,
Sage and sinnerman,
Where ya gonna run to?
Babel on.

One final brass blast
Seize to exist.
Yea, judge me
But parse sentences.

Heartbeaten, youthless.
The long liquid list.
Yea, judge me
But parse sentences.