There is this little, silent voice
creeping up your mind.
It wanders through your whole body
until it's in your head, your lungs and your heart.
Silently it's whispering
so lovely, so sweet.
Seems to know all there is to know about you.
Seems to be your only friend.
It creeps under your skin and lights a fire
that slowly burns your insides
until your heart is nothing more than a black muscle
pumping burning blood through your lifeless veins.
It pushes and pushes you forward steadily
towards emptiness, a dark and lonely end.
It's your own personal path to hell.
When you've passed the gates it does not follow you.
It marches on, everyone hears
It marches on, no on is safe.
Track Name: Bog People
I am drowning though I can swim
I am falling though I can fly
I am lost in this mass of faces
Staring at me with dead blind eyes
Though I'm running I walk backwards
Held by the bloodless fingers grabbing for my ankles,
Pulling me down and smashing my face into the dirt.
And when time has washed me free after decades of ferocity
My bog body will lay bare showing my glued gills, cliped wings.
Enthroned over the bone idle mass of us living dead
Rich man is sitting with his feathered crown
Swinging glue and clippers as his sceptre.