This world is dead Interweaved in guilt From these hands this snake was born Interlaced by the blood spill This serpent is the end of us It breathes Conscience long lost A gypsum bust falling apart Interlaced by the bloodshed This serpent is the end Construct No reverse War is always war. Never proud Greed is always greed. Never proud The plants and weeds rot as they erupt From the sockets that once had my eyes Now the snake breathes out Death. War. Religion. Blood. Bloom. Money. Bronze. Smoke. A gypsum bust falling apart The instincts is just an empty bowl Ideal means nothing.