Norse

Black Ocean

Norse


Why am i still here?
Lingering in this place.
I have been stricken with fatigue, and base-born instincts.

My inner-most will, sapped by the tendrils of the omnipotent lie.

Under grey skies they swallow,
Devouring their demise.
Yearning for the mother,
Her sour milk gushes, spills, pours into a well run-dry.

My inner-most will sapped by the tendrils of the omnipotent lie.

Force-fed wanton pleasures, under a shroud of free choice.
Piled high, hedonistic delights.
Gloating these petty urges, a dance you've learned from greed.
Boasting these incandescant whoredings.

The scent of shit paints trails to your grave.
Not defined by fury, nor do i choke on my rage.
Spoiled by the mother's milk,
My flesh is succulent while yours decays.

As i walk about i feel the foundations tremble.
You have turned away.
I see you as gods, sons of the highest order.
If i ever escape this black ocean.