Lyrics of 'A Quadrennial Dame Pyres, Hearses Shall No Yawn, Thence...' by Grieving Age
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They remembered...
3 butchers condemned to be an ancestral tale, 3 butchers marred, fuddled and sottish, voyaged the wrath....
3 butchers, intonated for their treachery with carious laughs and requital...
3 butchers, homed sarcastically through the slumbered veil, did I daunt your grandeur? your fathomless fabled kingdom? How pathetic you are.
A bosom’s reflection when she bowed, her tips never sung a solicitude..
Her emerald's none trespassed well; don’t you yearn for a wanton play?
The drapery won’t ascend till your Angels attend; a plebeian anarchic quartet feeds my aristocrat’s suavity!
A limped butcher furtively wandered, reluctantly, sat and dangled, touching his own old grey wrinkles, are this the paths where all children rot to corpses? Enkindle the lamps of centuries....
I know we are reciprocating...
A mouth less howls, yet begot a climaxed spew to his ruptured entrails...
Obey me, frivolous flesh !
How bleak are the gasping trees, half dyed rumpled wisp, she gazed drowsily and squirmy, burnt lubricated scalps purging their masqueraded blasphemous ignominy...
Marching in-between...
Into the abyss, the manacle acquiescent fountain, I’m lifeless!!!
Your thirstiness won’t be quenched!! Though you can hear my purl...
How pathetic you are!! Platonic whore...!!
While he’s frisking desperately, the ankles flesh cheer despondently, elects the axes! I will commemorate wretchedness with thy sea’s altar, disembowel me viciously and stake his given ephemeral squalid carnal!!
Rive it!! You blooded regrettable stigma...
How miserable you are Unwell Aged Ocean... Amidst his weariful shores, you wept for thee, don’t forsake me waves?
Once, we were 3 moons...
Once, we were 3 butchers...
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