Horse The Band. R. Borlax. Pol's Voice. Zeneszám

Its name mocks its silence, a worthless beast born to
violence ears and whiskers flapping as its yellow
flesh comes slapping across the rank filth of this
ancient subterranean floor. its hate knows no bounds
as its home knows no sounds (but the)
FLAPPING-SLAPPING-SPLATTING OF ITS- YELLOW- FLESH. *i
am the herald of light* I withdraw a shining glory, a
single loving-end of story, the only weakness, a grace
like wings, my bow sings. *UNLEASHED* and in the
silver light my arrows take flight *UNLEASHED* splits
pols voices head and spills its thoughts and dreams
*UNLEASHED* in crimson red across this floor
*UNLEASHED* a host of yellow bodies comes crashing to
my feet NEAT! A HoSt oF sLapPinG YellOW BodieS cOMEs
CrAsHINg iN cRImsoN PIles A HoSt oF sLapPinG YellOW
BodieS cOMEs CrAsHINg iN cRImsoN PIles A HoSt oF
sLapPinG YellOW BodieS cOMEs CrAsHINg iN cRImsoN PIles
A HoSt oF sLapPinG YellOW BodieS cOMEs CrAsHINg iN
cRImsoN PIles RUNNING AWAY RUNNING AWAY RUNNING AWAY
FROM YOUR OWN VOICE RUNNING AWAY RUNNING AWAY RUNNING
AWAY FROM POLS VOICE! SILENCE! SILENCE! SILENCE!
SILENCE!