by the landfill I lust
I burn their clothing before I dig into the ground
I am Janus-faced Belial with vines
you’re going to wish you hadn’t run
Clarodine is calling me
I hear the hearts of tiny beaten drums
I feigned umbrage at my bruising fists
you’re going to wish you hadn’t run
and with these trinkets pale of moon
senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles
when I nurse your tired heart
for every time you hear the strain of lullabies collapsing
walk towards the echo and let it hold you trembling
their gourds are punctured easily
amnesia fumes in little twists of silk
induce this multi-strobe with melody
you’re going to wish you hadn’t run
I sing your epicedium
my father taught me when I was young
you’ll wear the tattered fringe of hangnail regalia
you’re going to wish you hadn’t run
and with these trinkets pale of moon
senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles
when I nurse your tired heart
for every time you hear the strain of lullabies collapsing
walk towards the echo and let it hold you trembling