The blank face, the dead dirt, his feet beneath him, and feet beneath his feet...graves...graves.
Graves beneath the graves beneath the graves beneath his feet.

The young lie dead, undreamt.

Earth, a murky crypt, and feet beneath his feet, the waste beneath these wastes.
The worms are eating, blind and shitting, for miles beneath his feet beneath him in graves.

Burn alive, now!

Before your time drips off the clock.
Before you're dead, motherfucker, face up in a pit.
Before the rats and fleas rip your face off of the minds you rot beside.
You better split or stick, pick up the pace, cause there'll be dead motherfuckers all over the place before it's done.
Try before you die to burn alive.
Before you're dead, goddamnit; we're all gonna die.
We're fucking up!

Try to burn, burn alive, before your time drips off the clock.
Before you're dead, motherfucker, face up in a pit.
You're fucking up!
Better get wise.
You think you're better than this?
You'll eat shit while the maggots eat out your eyes.
You're bound for slime!

Slime clots. Dark knots.
Sometimes the dead dirt burns alive.

01/09/2013

Author's Note: A death metal/punk manifestation of a Nietzschean vision of the certainty and bleakness of death which should enliven a lust for life and encourage one to make the most of a painful, confusing yet magical, mysterious, fleeting world.

Posted on 01/09/2013
Copyright © 2024 Ryan Nardi