A crest up on which liars bathe
Tossing coins into an open wound
Our lives are made of dirt,
Strangled miracles with no way to dignify a breath or even satisfy an urge
I feel we are condemned to live in indifference
And venture through a fixed state of woe
Amalgamate me with the remains of my existence and accelerate
I see my reflection in every beaten horse
A course in recollection
With arrows sticking out of it's sides
My bones are bending in rhythm
As my memory stands in awe alongside death I triumph