Cold brains, 

unmoved, 

untouched, 

unglued, 

alone at last. 



No thoughts, 

no mind, 

to rot 

behind 

a trail of disasters. 



A final the curse, 

abandoned hearse, 

we ride disowned, 

corroded to the bone. 



The fields 

of green 

are bent, 

obscene, 

I lay upon the gravel. 



A worm of hope, 

a hangman's rope 

pulls me one way or the other. 



A final curse, 

abandoned hearse, 

we write this song, 

corroded to the bone. 



A bird 

of song 

is heard 

no longer 

in the evacuated heavens. 



And the drain 

is drawn, 

and drained 

and gone, 

and on and on, it doesn't matter. 



A final curse, 

abandoned hearse, 

we rock the salt, 

corroded to the bone.