These ears are sharp
They've been pounding beat red
Since I hit the ground - I've adopted a shape
The counterpart of steel
Still too heavy to float
I'm wind in a raincoat
I wake in Hulda's arms
No will to atone
We grease the cogs, spend our daylight bogged down
Don't ask again, no will to atone
Quite the spectacle, I'm sure; to be inside out
They demand my self-harm, my self-doubt
We, they, and the hunger are three
Time's sand clocks drain and age for ripe
We choke and scream through exhausted pipes
Witness the song while I survive the conflict