All that I'm seeing are processes processing
My mind is tottering, my heart says save some time as my stomach insist that it's always starving
Appendage to malficient zombie, pawn of an atmospheres decay
With where I stay, this body that lays somewhere close to it's destined grave, or can the echoes be killed by the sounds of silence?
Rush your claim and stake your violets, on the gray sand, with a moon as red as blood