Deathful

歌詞

................................ ................................ .............. Another missing number in the jungle. Turned up with nothing but a loincloth to protect your tender penis from what's danger in the wildlife. Hushing your blood to hear a grass blade break. Beneath live them fang, where the edible are thread. A clump of thieves' teeth are hung, strung around your neck. Book of matches in your left hand. Something sharp in your right. Fact: When one first arms themselves to kill, they will be lucky to fall, even the old or the ill. And while the killing will grow easy, it will never grow less complicated. Why, what kind of killer are you? Did you dig through its death unflinchingly? Or did you just shut your breath and survive? What kind of killer are you? Did you decide? You'd rather starve than go on taking this day? Does a bachelor's degree arm one as it guts its prey? Did you still feel deathful? When one first (h)arms themselves to kill, they will be lucky to fall, even the old or the ill. Killa'! Is you is, or is you ain't? Will you always eat around the wishbone or thank the carcass you're carving for what's all destruction? And do you still feel deathful with only matches, weapon, and less questions? Would you now dissolve small slices of unraveled human arm on your good tongue? Or would you now dig past your sausage stomach from the rungs of the ill over the young? And is this the fork to which you've come, a choice where there is none? Knowing only to survive is quite deathful in the one dusk of what's done. And so I ask, what kind of killer are you or will you become? Did you dig through its death unflinchingly? ................................ ................................ ..............