Subtle. Exiting Arm. Sick Soft Perfection. Zeneszám

Seems its become man's cross death lasting duty
to dispose completely of the bright behind beauty...

And this word is somehow then killed,
and put back as its fake...
like it was only kept outside apes in the first place.

Overworked words like beauty are an undeserved
sort of safety scissors for their purpose.
Were it only meant be adapted to Hollywood dull,
Leaving a red white & blind eye lain null
where beauty once saw only passage
through the human skull...

Will you soon become
One of the many most empty sons
Hung to kill none and done
Or will you beget a twice life yet...
Since effects
Are always wearing off
The no-concern eclipse they so anticipate,
as its perfect fight dream dissipates
across work weeks crashing
and epty's open asking.

There is a sick osft god
humaned perfection,
to someone's hard-to-find birdhead collection

(Thanks to Ryan for these lyrics)