Multiple Spouse Wounds

I think I've become one of the others
I think I've become one of the others
I think I've become one of the others
There was a frail syrup dripping off
His lap danced lapel, punctuated by her
Decrepit prowl she washed down the hatching
Gizzard soft as a mane of needles
His orifice icicles hemorrhaged
By combing her torso to a pile
Perspired the trophy shelves made room for his collapse
She was a mink hand job in sarcophagus heels
Bring me to my knees
Read the sharpened lines
All my arms
Bled me blind
Faucet leaks in shadows
Spilling from morgue lancet
Caressed your fontanelle
I've sworn to kill
Every last one
Every last one
Panic in the shakes of the wounded
Panic in the worms
Onto the floor
And out of your mouth
Out of your eyelids
No there's no [...]
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