Trinkets Pale Of Moon

by the landfill I lust I burn their clothing before I dig into the ground I am Janus-faced Belial with vines you’re going to wish you hadn’t run Clarodine is calling me I hear the hearts of tiny beaten drums I feigned umbrage at my bruising fists you’re going to wish you hadn’t run and with these trinkets pale of moon senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles when I nurse your tired heart for every time you hear the strain of lullabies collapsing walk towards the echo and let it hold you trembling their gourds are punctured easily amnesia fumes in little twists of silk induce this multi-strobe with melody you’re going to wish you hadn’t run I sing your epicedium my father taught me when I was young you’ll wear the tattered fringe of hangnail regalia you’re going to wish you hadn’t run and with these trinkets pale of moon senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles when I nurse your tired heart for every time you hear the strain of lullabies collapsing walk towards the echo and let it hold you trembling