onslaught of a flood on the fatal day
crushing like the dead weight of a fallen deity
well could it be just the luck of the draw
or just - perhaps - vicious - circle - hemlock
the culprit is my anarchive of a motherfucking caustic vibe
imbalanced adorned by my decay of faith
relentless siege hammering a titans anvil
perched upon a fault line revel in this mode of hate

crouching in a clotted corner
bloody blade in hand
pushed and pulled to stretch beyond what used to think as man
i'll finger paint a curse of pain on canvas made of flesh
and ponder soaked in liars blood just who will be my next
crouching in a clotted corner
bloody blade in hand
recounting acts of violence hate and pain
i've dealt so grand
lives and limbs strewn all about
and elsewhere more of the same
crossed just one too many time to be as they think sane

you fall from the grace of this one life
fall from the grace for one last time
fall from grace