Слова:
Dalek From Filthy Tongue Of Gods And Griots

prepare for martyrdom I speak that ancient tongue There lies a language in (the noise and the hum) Remember days of cardboard, fat lace, and krylon? Microphones and

speaking to self? Ugly blood pours from warm heartfelt vase... Flowers scattered on a cold stone floor... Connect nevermore. I am torn by my lack of emotions and

from high atop the food chain Deciding who to blame for each and every heartless act Weight of elements exact I retain no tact and spit the pure fact Mixed with blood from split tongue

when art lost its grasp Should have paid attention in class kid Fed off tit of deceased and still a bastard Asked for it all and received a swift nil