(Verse 1) Seventeen winters pickled in mud and rot, I rupture my grave, split wet seams of my own crust. Bloodshot eyes bulge from this soft, pulsing horror— veins throbbing under translucent, dripping flesh. Do you recognize the abomination clawing free? (Chorus) It’s me— a twitching ghost in crumpled wings still slick with pus, screaming through the tar for only a few poisoned days. Fluorescent vultures hum where our forest bled out. (Verse 2) Oaks slaughtered into yellow scars and oil-black wounds, my ruptured thorax vibrates love songs against dead steel. No wings reply. No green. Just asphalt devouring sound, while my new body cracks and leaks in the heat. (Final Lines – whispered, breaking) Recognize me… before these eyes burst and wings rot. Seventeen years… for this meat in a parking lot grave.
