Poets Of Dirt
Dew-scented
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The gone staying by me
Feeling disease, crying sun
Soil adorning me, preparing to grow
Fever, disgust, dear sigh
Bewatching the truth, morals to break
Catch soon the breeze, immortals
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And if my tears were only joyful
I would better rest in silence
Instead of writing down my claims
To pleasure such a lonely road
A sombre tangle to disclose
The damned poets of dirt
Lake fulfilled with sand, prayers of lies
Wishing disease, unholy blue
Is covering meand our sins
Forever gone, trapped in life