Somewhere an infant cries / her parents do not stirresting
Another storm is rolling throughAn olive branch just hit the
Like a spider spinning webs in your fetid holeYou measure
Pacing in a gilded cageYouthful lust turns to rageYou turn
Your stolen innocence lost beyond recoveryA cold ambivalence desecrates that
Kneel on sacred reeds and kiss the rising sunA wild
Loveless, soul-less robots made out of skinManicure, accessorize, cover up
The house is growing quiet, the vigil will beginA nightly
» More on Emergence