A depiction of the future
Of the entirety of our kind;
Of our disease:
On the cusp of circulating
Swirls of
space
Appears a concentration of decay;
A wasted
constellation frame.
In this morgue of stellar forms
The planets are cremated into worms.
Mutated and
deformed,
They spur themselves forward
To the writhing
dirt.
Dismissed to audience themselves;
To view from
inches away, the stage
Upon which their fate is played
Like strings tied at the base
To tear the wings off of
The remained figures.
credits
from EP,
track released March 29, 2011
Max Zigman - Bass, Guitars, Programming
Riley McShane - Vocals, Lyrics