Psyclon Nine
And with Fire
I want you to make me sick
Dry up this little soul
I want to throw away everything
That makes me myself
I never asked to be here
Dispel the pageantry
Bury me alive in the
Shadows of your grace
All Hell wash over me
Wipe this slate clean
Bestow me with your emptiness
I want to wear your disease to warm this frailty
To lick the wounds that will never heal
Lay your eggs inside of me