| [00:00.00] |
Old black tusks ripped off of the beast at the bank of the swamp |
| [00:10.24] |
And carved into statues of arthritic gods |
| [00:15.68] |
Or the handles of blunt swords that you'll one day ruin upon, |
| [00:22.61] |
With your eyes covered in moss. |
| [00:27.83] |
Shot down in its sleep, |
| [00:33.41] |
The big game of the world wide garbage heap. |
| [00:39.19] |
You mounted its head on your wall. The prize? |
| [00:43.50] |
Hollowed out eyes, mold in the cracks of its skull. |
| [00:49.06] |
The fur is matted with blood |
| [00:51.86] |
and its tongue wet with mother's milk. |
| [00:53.86] |
. |
| [00:54.80] |
The gates opened wide and bedlam came. |
| [01:00.08] |
Wise men were forced into a layman's trade. |
| [01:06.11] |
With nothing but time, chaos reigns. |
| [01:12.25] |
A great quiet has followed you to here. |
| [01:17.11] |
A blustering wind with nothing of worth in its heart or hands. |
| [01:24.07] |
Your legacy is a dull catalogue of common things |
| [01:33.79] |
You've never even seen the blood you've drawn |
| [01:39.72] |
Or looked in the eyes of the kill you claim was yours |
| [01:44.94] |
Before taking your picture with it. |
| [01:47.06] |
. |
| [01:47.44] |
|
