Spineglass — Kill II This

Crumbling at the very core of my being Dropped on my spine and now I find My spine is made of glass

Wax veined, moth to the flame Bones grind, dropped on my spine

Bloodstained glass in the sand Softly slaughter the lamb So slow, knife in my back Remains like needle tracks

Beautiful words are seldom true Tongue of thorns, my spine is glass

Spineglass

My spine is glass