For all this fire we never heard
shanks round the bend
when you're foaming at the rim
On your serrated edge
you're like a snail that's dead
the hiss I make is warning to the scalpel
When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
Moloch in the time of mutiny
When the body wants to fix this frame
a guilty presence starts to fill our cape
born into the strangle, fists around the neck
The hiss I make is warning with extreme prejudice
When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
Moloch in the time of mutiny
Half of the time
murdering clean
standing in filth
gets no relief
Half of the time
murdering clean
don't roll your eyes
standing empty
Where I'm going
you've taken your sign
stand on your own
standing empty
What answer until now
must you give?
Won't you tell my fingers
to spell extinction?
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