A Storm Of Whips

The ropes tighten to drain me of this blood
There will be no peace
No grain of pity to seize the hand
The knife tears the way thru

Tight is the noose, it's long been made
The burns age on the skin of my neck
We're the cracks on the walls
Of the houses of tyrants' whore
Running deep for the rot to settle in

The gates open within
Death's magick lends itself
Crawling thru my second birth
Desolate and paramount

I've proven my contradiction's worth
Unce again
Worn from swimming against the stream
And my vision turns bleak and white