Lyrics The Serpent Sting, The Smell of Goat - False

We were told that the walls of the temple
Were a vessel born from god
To lift us from underneath the crushing wheel of life
Death and rebirth
No god shapes us
Lest our ribs crack under the walls of his temple
Our existence is sloughing
Moulting of the vestigial
Yet our ribs crack
Our existence sloughing
Moulting of vestigial,
Ossified sloth
Self-imprisonment shed;
Shape, or be shaped
Salt the wounds inflicted by others
Better to fester than to accept
Better to harbor rot
Than to cede self
Apotheosis of change
To touch is to be touched, any denial of this is self-mockery
To change is to be changed
Passive receipt of change
Is betrayal of self