Patch the line of sight I plea
It's open, the barge is lost at sea
Profuse, corrupt, liquid disdain
Its eyes see colors below the flame
Scratch the skin to peel and sweat
The feathers and fur too real to forget

Expulse, parole, morose the chagrin
To echo the path from where we begin
The village is aft corroded by oil
Still lit and seeking a virgin soil
Alive but tattered, saved by the dust
Hands still clenching, aged by rust
The froth it multiplies as crystals decay
Smashed into powder that
Darkens the day

No peace, no faith
Incestuous and crushed
We swelter and toil
Restrained and hushed
No peace, no faith, incestuous and crushed