Token.

Bacteria.

Microbes in a petri dish.

That’s what I see when I look upon you.

Skeletons, walking corpses.

Lizards and monkeys.

When will it dawn on you?

Miniscule, insignificant, ashes to ashes.

Taste like charcoal.

The suffering accrued.

At the peak of absurdity, cynicism and the lot.

Substantially, fundamentally broken.

It’s inconsequential.

All that shit you fought for.

Just a token, to celebrate insanity.

It’s inconsequential.

Loss and gain, revolving door.

Like clockwork.

Wheels and gears.

Rage for the machine.

Queers and steers.

Short and lean.

Flies buzzing around disillusioned flesh.

Content with consensual coma.

Consensus and soma.

33 degrees, and a worthless diploma.

Sustained by blissful ignorance.

Cognitive dissonance.

Only your captors know you well.

It’s inconsequential.

All that shit you fought for.

Just a token, to celebrate insanity.

It’s inconsequential.

Loss and gain, revolving door.

Like clockwork.

Bastards and prostitutes.

Puppets and radical elements.

Criminals and crazies.

God took a shit.

Meatheads and limp wrists.

Burn the writ.

Were it so simplistic.

Value applied is value lost.

Polite identity holocaust.

Dye your hair or shave your head, feels as though you’re better off dead.

Fill your coffers or share your bread.

It’s inconsequential.

All that shit you fought for.

Just a token, to celebrate insanity.

It’s inconsequential.

Loss and gain, revolving door.

Like clockwork. -Michael Ament

Corpsemass.

Mass of flesh.

Black in dress.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Hearts no colder.

Hate and anger.

Sadness and death.

Double-edged sword.

The edge is caressed.

Madness.

This is madness.

No better time to render.

Never surrender.

Madness.

This madness.

Shove them in a pit.

Bury me in shit.

Do as you’re fucking told.

Killing each other, your blood is gold.

Mass of flesh.

I am your king of worms.

Black in dress.

Pain is assured.

Shoulder to shoulder.

A mosaic of shields.

Hate and anger.

Release it into the field.

Sadness and death.

This is your fate, this is real.

A double edged sword, die for me or kneel.

Madness.

This is madness.

No better time to render.

Never surrender.

Madness.

This madness.

Shove them in a pit.

Bury me in shit.

Do as you’re fucking told.

Killing each other, your blood is gold.

Mass of flesh.

Reddened crest.

Fodder and carrion, feed the blessed.

Corpse starch and swine blood.

Degenerates in their hovels rut.

God, neither here nor there, save yourself or rot in mud.

Indignant condescending stare, below me, I see your hair, twirling like thunder crosses.

Bring your shit in, and get accosted.

Mass of flesh.

Black in dress.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Hearts no colder.

Hate and anger.

Sadness and death.

Double-edged sword.

The edge is caressed.

Madness.

This is madness.

No better time to render.

Never surrender.

Madness.

This madness.

Shove them in a pit.

Bury me in shit.

Do as you’re fucking told.

Killing each other, your blood is gold.

Corpsemass!

Corpsemass!

Corpsemass!

The ritual unfolds! -Michael David Ament

Weight.

I got needs down to my knees.

I can’t breathe.

You plant the seeds.

My heart bleeds.

Lost in a dream.

The heavens are green.

Above the icy seas.

Nowhere to flee.

Buried beneath.

And the shadow of time consumes the weary bastard.

I crumple like a used napkin.

Wrinkled and stained, smelling of salty tears.

I’ve lost all amity, though I do not fear.

The flames of righteous indignation searing flesh.

To dust and ashes, peering into infinity I rest.

In the reeds I swallow fleas.

I can’t see.

She hearkens my screams.

My skin reeks.

Nightmare tobacco smoke cancer.

The throne is red.

Below the umber earth.

The throat burns.

Buried without worth.

And the shadow of time consumes the weary bastard.

I crumple like a used napkin.

Wrinkled and stained, smelling of salty tears.

I’ve lost all amity, though I do not fear.

The flames of righteous indignation searing flesh.

To dust and ashes, peering into infinity I rest.

Desire till I expire.

I can’t be freed.

I saw the ancient greed.

Conquer the world.

I read too deep.

The fields of gold.

Ransacked and sold.

Fall into irradiated hole.

Buried with all I know.

And the shadow of time consumes the weary bastard.

I crumple like a used napkin.

Wrinkled and stained, smelling of salty tears.

I’ve lost all amity, though I do not fear.

The flames of righteous indignation searing flesh.

To dust and ashes, peering into infinity I rest.

Rest.

Rest.

Rest.

Was it worth the weight? -Michael David Ament