Adjust to the crux; lick the line-in time with my weakening pulse.
I’m feeling the peeling of my dead shell.
Nothing to sell-but my soul into Hell.
Hearing wicked clock; tick-tock, jolting paranoid shock.
Stay awake or hibernate under an ice cold rock.
Tipping pendulum swing, death on a string,
Covering eyes blinding the lies that fall from my lips-as this pendulum tips.
Hell still owns my crumbling throne…
Package my heart to then tear it apart, the heavy burdens I carry,
I wish only to bury-
Lay me to rest for I have failed your cruel test.
I plead for salvation to those who own my damnation,
I bend from the base-hiding a worrisome face.
I pray you didn’t notice my horror.
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