Division Day
Chalk Lines
Blackest art is what we deal,Drawing chalk lines in your kitchen.Targeting occult alleles,We'll catalyze our mother's fission.The room is burning and we're still here.We are a circle of fourteen arms,Even as windows bend.We are a tear in the math of ice,A saddle aback the cold shell of the terrapin.Over. I've done all I can doTo unvenomize, so you can see this through.Now, finally, the maker mends us,Furnishes a blood decanter.Five and eighty-five rememories arrest,Furrowings along the middle parts attest to this.The room is burning and we're still here.We are a circle of fourteen arms,Even as windowpanes bend.We are a tear in the math of ice,A saddle aback the cold shell of the terrapin.Over. I've done all I can doTo unvenomize, so you can see this through.
From Letras Mania