Slit

Fly with me from the adamantine gates Into the iridescent sky To become A mote of imperfection In the eye Of an infallible god Nature's bosom heaves Yearning for a hero Skies now darkened Clouds heavy with rain Fly with me Fly with me From our touch She will tremble I gently SLIT her skin From our touch She will tremble We fly We fly Into the billowing cloud-mass Origin of the storm And the chaos to come She moans Hear the deafening thunder Harbinger of the flood To wash us all away In their cloaks of lead The torrents overcome them Faith lost to depths which light cannot reach In pleasure we drown A life worth losing For an end worth bringing SUBMERGED We shall never surface SUBMERGED We shall never surface SAVOR YOUR LAST BREATHS For tonight we fly Now we fly From the gates Into the sky Imperfection in the dying thoughts In the dying thoughts Of a drowning god OF A DROWNED GOD