Letra de One Big Fucking Joke
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[Spoken-Word]
The last thing I felt was the rain beating down on me. And just like love, it came in fists. Crashing down, rending my entrails into the pavement. Bones chipping and rolling across the floor like coins into the pocket of death... paying admission to hell. As the maw of perdition positioned itself to devour, a divine energy would attempt to allow my liberation... and my frail figure humored the savior's offer. But the cruel irony is that escaping fate is like trying to run on shattered knees. Fangs of the beast tore at my viscera between bursts of hellish laughter. As I writhed towards what I assumed to be freedom, that damned rain gathered up what was left of me and carried me back to the seat of my tormentor. As my remains slid down the Baphomet's throat, all I ever knew turned to blackness.
When I awoke from my journey into damnation, I was whole again. What would seem to be vile medicine keeps me tied the corporeal plane. I can feel their apparati muse my anatomy as I lay in a very convenient complacency. I can hear the voices of those I once loved being repeated in a sick test of my sanity. I can taste the foul sustenance they pump through my veins. I can smell the blight that now stands in place of my flesh. I -however- cannot see this ungodly prison. For this macabre act of mercy, I could never be more thankful.
Now I must admit that my story is a bit far-fetched even for such a case as my own... but the only thing it seems that I honestly know at this point is that the fear of being alive is the most overwhelming thing I have ever experienced.
The last thing I felt was the rain beating down on me. And just like love, it came in fists. Crashing down, rending my entrails into the pavement. Bones chipping and rolling across the floor like coins into the pocket of death... paying admission to hell. As the maw of perdition positioned itself to devour, a divine energy would attempt to allow my liberation... and my frail figure humored the savior's offer. But the cruel irony is that escaping fate is like trying to run on shattered knees. Fangs of the beast tore at my viscera between bursts of hellish laughter. As I writhed towards what I assumed to be freedom, that damned rain gathered up what was left of me and carried me back to the seat of my tormentor. As my remains slid down the Baphomet's throat, all I ever knew turned to blackness.
When I awoke from my journey into damnation, I was whole again. What would seem to be vile medicine keeps me tied the corporeal plane. I can feel their apparati muse my anatomy as I lay in a very convenient complacency. I can hear the voices of those I once loved being repeated in a sick test of my sanity. I can taste the foul sustenance they pump through my veins. I can smell the blight that now stands in place of my flesh. I -however- cannot see this ungodly prison. For this macabre act of mercy, I could never be more thankful.
Now I must admit that my story is a bit far-fetched even for such a case as my own... but the only thing it seems that I honestly know at this point is that the fear of being alive is the most overwhelming thing I have ever experienced.
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