Anastatica

Crooked and out of touch with
The deep end I'm in love with
Supply your wine under my dying sun
Don't let it incubate you
Just let it liberate you
No one else has to know from which we've come
Play our breath in place of rest
No charm or spell just intimate respect

Defeated and left starving
A body here for carving
Debris among the waves
Like zombies they infect you
Like priests they resurrect you
Bottom feeders searching for hope to "save"

Dated now with the seasons
I've forgotten the reasons
There's something in the mirror wearing eyes
The maze it hungers for you
Slithers in then controls you
A tube that's feeding those grungy insides
Like lines that contain the sketch
Now is the time of the inhuman wretch