Confessions of a Man (Mad Enough to Live Amongst Beasts)
The smoke dances And the two colours make love In spiral of cancer Chairs stacked to burn And their firey reflection Shows in the windows of gaping sockets Silence, could be dripping from every pour Violence, could be melting into every scar North is east tonight, as the big magnet says Point out the flowers and lift my fringe Teach me and spin my photos of machines The sun has got to me, boiling fat in my belly Octagon sword moon Like a red breasted pecker Stands out in the plush greens Ill falling petals Lounge reluctantly Incase of a dry Monday Silence, could be dripping from every pour Violence, could be melting into every scar Why are they looking at us?
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
Six locusts pour butter on your face Surely you now churn with beauty Finding the confession of chastity More the sweet bite of a mother poisoned She keeps waking up in the morning I can't vomit that fact God must have made us In the image of his ass With her bruised bones and scattered morals Her gift sits uneasy on a wire tank And an architect whispers her next role in drowning water She keeps waking up in the morning I can't vomit that fact God must have made us In the image of his ass You slap on wooden lip skin And dodge pins and buckles Brushing off the clinkers To music of leather churches A grill over a voice in cotton And more money than cock Enjoyed by the mass of paper shredders With gorps of devilish anti-light The moon drips on you And gives the arm a hand Mended grains struck bleak For wisdom groaning Distened looks on steamed pans A fleshy gate stalling Viewing the close ruins and neck tax Where you landed in a bottle She is the mother of impulse.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
Snapping purl skies drop piss on leaves The carpet is yellow, was white like papers I was solid, like resin windows Slacking off pipes because I want to pet something File this under wallpaper for old folk Its got to be nice to look at for years The spirit gets rotten five dawns a month In marble embossments and brass naked cupboards It is frowning, hanker for a needle Cracking off boxes like cold bench foliage Enervate Enervate me Cock me off a pearl Grate me up a pound Cock me off a pearl Shoot the mother with fingers on my child Its got to be a clean shot and quiet Enervate Enervate me.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
On this which is like a last chance piss stop To beacon the days vomit intake Smells like fish in the sun of eastern morning Refreshing as the cunt saying sorry It looks like the hellish darkness Of the minds sight lost in judgement Can I spray in uncomfortable tiled surroundings My level of hygine is hard for some Evident most like it dirty As bathing in vomit and spunk Caught and stored for a period of seven years Injected and festerd in sleep I can see my envelope but will you hide it Confirmation that I cant be down Where is the capitol and the leader With the new era of the cunt The fuck, the cunt, the new era The fuck of the times Drying off still today For then it was it to be Now ask if the times Always the dry life Are the new era of the cunt The fuck of the times Drying off still today For then it was it to be Evident most like it dirty As bathing in vomit and spunk Caught and stored for a period of seven years Injected and festerd in sleep The fuck, the cunt, the fuck, the new era.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
Sinking down Its ripping off her smile A second ordinal child Of velvet wings Carbon ghosts Are coiling up her shift Leeching clear bliss From vexing speech Black rust lungs Shrive on the callous way out Reduce milking down To a count Clotting clouds Loom over her paper nest White noise and death in tune From carbon fumes This isn't happening Silent touches Are frisking her for spares Nourished by the scent of Idle dark air Mouths fringed with nails Her weapon is her smile Seasonal tears, a Form of zero Climbing – climbing up to you Climbing – up to you This isn't happening Comatose – now I is see you Morose – now I see you Sore, like me, I'm sore We're not really here, not really here
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
Catch, my klieg eyes In, married circles Limber, set with inspect Stroke, the submissive Serene, shining wingers Fly, in my number Passion, their propeller Dilating, my cancer Return to the soil In the name of the marker The fuckers know my trails by The magic senses of their hairy antlers Making it pie to judge a direction For them to attack with shock fire You can carry your body weight running But the airtank is light with speed from Underground nutrition Proteins and vitamins Catch, my klieg eyes In, married circles Limber, set with inspect Stroke, the submissive Serene, shining wingers Fly, in my number Passion, their propeller Dilating, my cancer Return to the soil In the name of the marker The maybugs don't live to fight They just love the smell of killing With armour and technology advanced By not knowing the underside Its big gum pegs hidden and The burning reflecting black shell Brushing his targets with the cream point On his muscular spinal tail My klieg eyes Marred circles Set with inspect The submissive Shining wingers In my number I swear on my knees And I swear on my neck That claw faced widow maker is after me Go back and die young with your mother Hold your sunburst wing shield over Your colour filtering sockets Get warm with the new pupa And softly pass the incest to another death I swear on my knees And I swear on my neck.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
The notions, this sickness Purifys the flies that blow white Tinted versions of passing lights Paralysed and bleached Using fingers, gesture a welcome Open shoulders symbolize nothing to trust Not for my Dislodged servant of moths Drinking wine to the presence of…oxygen And the power of troubled careless…mercy Spitting dust from the diligent…wanderer And the leaves are rolling into my…number Rust slides down the ridged cracks…on my face And I learn about vivid trespassing…trees Nine times over my knee…scent and cement I think I have the right flavour tonight Shys like I can With imaginary vessels Be my emotion Rather than my noose Reapply my fist to my ass Check for a girl inside with snow A positive change to compulsive masturbation Alarming you? I know how the best. The notions, this sickness Purifys the flies that blow white Tinted versions of passing lights Paralysed and bleached Using fingers, gesture a welcome Open shoulders symbolize nothing to trust Not for my Dislodged servant of moths Walls of cogent knowledge Produce disease through the mind Stimulate an action To devise a short coalescence.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026