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lyrics

dettached from the past,
fate becomes the only thing i have,
the clock alarms my hands,
trough the ring i always recognize,

another day beguns again,
it is new but smells like ash,
the wheel constantly spins,
trough different places, but remains the same,

just like the routine,
i keep alive, has monotony,
and my dreams all resonate,
with insects and running trough the pray,

the pray...
i used to made,
when i believed in someone else,
other than my wounded flesh.

credits

from At The Edge: of met​á​stasis and other kinds of illness, released June 26, 2021

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idiot_lump Rosario, Argentina

Trepanation is not a hopeful foundation for a nation, unless you breath the god’s wrath, and then you want, to make it the common trade, for the common people, of the newborn, Resig-Nation nation.

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