Scales slither up, weave whispers in the orbit. Tree of life wither while the shifted sun forfeits. Mountains of Madness, distorted and amorphous, I scratch my head mortified, I thought I knew the chorus. Mad fickle. Fuck what you think of me. Touch mad topics through asphyxiated frequency. Speak on entropic and misanthropic indecency. Catapult necronomilluminati peacefully. I redefine “Let’s do this shit.” Blunts on Black Sabbath like we’re tryin’ to get Jerusalit. Lazy eye starin’ a hole to Zion while I gene splice poems to the pulses of the pylon. Call it what you will, I want the fruit that angels warn against. Simulate a serpent just to stimulate the born-agains. Mad shifty. Forecast: mad shitty. Head hung low, soul worth tree fitty. My truth look a little like it fits a little better in a ship-wreck scene. Captain Drunk Texting. Bat shit level unparalleled. At first I got sick now I’m back trying to pressure cook the carousel. Ah, hell. Untangle this stuck clown. Rip his ears off and tell him function without sound. Watch wide-eyed as tides rise up, down then compare ‘em to my moods and kindly get the fuck out!

Re-animated. Back to the basic wave I can handle, the way that I made it. Blasphemous basilisk master-craft capitalist. Symbiotic satellite that sacrifice the sacrilege. Identify identity crisis. Mice and men sippin’ on the blood of Christ, iceless. Who can spin redemption metaphors fastest? Berserker drunk as fuck truckin’ Road to Damascus. Walk four corners. Filthy Fuckin’ Rich. The horn that wakes the sleepers vs. the creepers in the ditch. Glorious. Battle lines drawn, tell the warriors. Blessed are the poor in spirit, so we’re victorious. We’ll be bound for the fountain. Kill beats and put it down with a bountiful poundin’. Many puffed pounds and weird sounds on the album but never doubt the devout when you’ve found ‘em. My bad. I’m not a decent person but truth is found in sacrifice of earthliness and purpose. Life is service. Can’t a dude just be the servant? Must a person truly die unto himself and feed the serpent?! It’s worthless. I see your banner and I snatch it. Leave a fortress lookin’ skeletal in malevolent fashion. Madness got ‘em struck like match sticks. Probable Cause Productions. Thank you, acid.

[Why can’t you let us have this?
If it were possible this cup could pass then I would ask it.
Caught up in the past, laughin’ last – that’s some sad shit.
And the mob yells, “Give us Barabbas!”]