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The Amenta - An Epoch Ellipsis Lyrics

Two wings of the choir
Crushed by Te Deum and Dies Irae
Roting crowds clamber
Not with a whimper but a whine

A poor cur's lapse

Square dwellers begging for change
An arid spring
Cold, unmarked grave
Birds flown to entropical climes
Sore ire cysts sick eyes saw

Poised upon collapse
A poor cur's lapse
And with a pauper's lisp
In slip's apocalypse

The lying and the lamb
Unlikely bedfallows
Cloistered bones, now free
Hung from streetlights, gibbering
Tongue-tied tastemakers
Sage and sinnerman
Where ya gonna run to?
Babel on
One final brass blast
Of an arc/angles geomatria
Seize to exist
Yea, judge me
But parse sentences

Heartbeaten, youthless
The long liquid list
Yea, judge me
But parse sentences