You'd be choking on your flame, my son without a name
Made king[I] of all the wastes. And forever will swallow us alive
We'll be abstracted from time - we can let the tides wash over
This is the epilogue to the introduction:
Lost in the sound. Hold tight all your systematic
Theories that help you to sleep at night, but remember
That there could be no sufficient certitudes in hell

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do
Mother, receive me because I'm coming home to you
Does this cup run dry?
Look at what we've done again
We wage war in the name of love
Using gold to fill the holes in your hands

Caught in the paradox - juxtaposed between
Bifurcated black and white... And my propensity to fail you
Caught in the cyclical narrative of violence
That invokes your name to justify genocide. They'll take everything.

We traded water for salt - something whole
For something equally as broken as us
Now dying of thirst we'll write this out in blood
And shut you in a stone cold time where the air rots out

Leaving us alone. We chose to be alone
I was given to cup to quench parched tongues
But I became drunk and lust lynched my lungs
Father, forgive them. For they know not what they do
Mother, receive me, because I'm coming home to you
Does this cup run dry?
For they know not what they do