1. Theories Of Old Bones

they passed by flames almost out
here even the wind destroys bones
time turns into space bones ache
drawn out like an ache bones space
it smelled like slow death bones ache

and they crawled along the floor hungry and lean and looking for more
the stench followed me out of the gloom, a ghost of rage
a memory of cruel fatigue screams heard bone deep
there is nothing to breathe into the heart the cold drifted

to the pit where we twist and cringe bones ache
huddled away from the daylight pale and white
hollowed into a numbness no need for pain or wasting disease
for it's the same ragged tangle of fears,
the same strange sense of aimlessness
that knot of rage scoured the floor of the skull

life had drifted away to some far off point inside leaving the body to automatic ruin
fall through the ether and that slow sweat of time gnawing at my entrails
silent as the drift of death

2. Ethics On The Precipice

it's a murky world that dull dark light that is animal greed
where every human element is boiled away the cracks in reality
to the white bone of animal agony for this is the edge of everything
the cracks down the sides of reality
the spaces between the cord drifting shoals of waste in the drear places
the final disorder of all forms the cracks in reality

for this is the edge of everything a point where it does not decay
anymore the dust finally gets out it belongs to the end
I felt the edge of a strange euphoria the sky like poisoned
silver with the leavings of unhuman minds somewhere towards the end

construction of things fell apart the cold sweating centre
ripping along nerves digging into marrow down in the blood depths
where everything grows entwined dead grey flesh pressing against the cord
muscles knot pushed all the way to drown out everything strange
to sweat you in your bed a memory of water

somewhere towards the end
it is slow and cold
in the sludge of human misery
empty of dreams burning with tension
but it's early here at the end
the heart dragging and
the chill of old silver
right at the end of the world

clawing the bottom of my lungs
at the corners of perception
like ragged glass over nerves
you will have to claw it from them
crushing life into the methane
watch the old earth ebb away
a sound like the universe apart
like the sorrow of a dream

3. Old Rope

this place is for people who like the way down

we are the hollow men leaning together
old men wringing our minds of thought

the world never had so many moving parts
that sought form
there is something about this place
it seduces me

sagged in ruin a rope around my neck
around my feet like concrete it drains away
that drug that final moment like concrete
the skeleton of life that drug like concrete

we have been sucking up the vapours for aeons
the universal decay that contaminant destroys us all
trying to find a voice for the agony the corrosion
what is this new terror? it will make corpses of us all
rub your hands not in fear but in the knowledge that...
many are the hands that dig my grave tonight

4. Dead Channel

the slow dark sludge melted down and solidified
full of poison insanity and nightmares
inside nothing outside emptiness
it mothers demons that move
the grace of addiction

with a head full of noise and pills waves of raw transference
tuned to a dead channel in search of a new womb
it is mere content deprived of form everything is waste
nobody seems to notice the absence of a living substance
there was something else in the silence that I heard
like something hauled from dreams and abandoned

the mind drinks less and less
people going nowhere somewhere following the moon tide like so many leaden idols
leave them for the flies and the carcass of a dead world
the universal rubble nothing left to rot
abandoned and formless

there are no mountains to make them cower
all we seem to live for is pleasure end it burn it the fire is clean
putting out the stars and extinguish the sun you seem to come away lost
end it burn it nothing is clean
no one seems to listen anymore a head full of noise and pills
burn it end it it feeds on silence
but there is something in the silence I heard it screams at me
end it burn it if you let it burn it will burn our lifetimes out

we have some leaks in the system where reality filters through
a non linear flood of facts with each pulse of nothingness
they show us trailers to make us hold onto nothingness
splinters of a substance that pulsates like a former heart
an anchor drawing us to oblivion and the bones
the bare bones of existence an anchor to oblivion

5. Nothing Has A Centre

a cancerous day nothing to guide
all the monuments of slower aeons sank into the loam
even time decays like a razor through creation
as I sifted through the bones of a soiled humanity
with swirls of light and meaning drained out of the universe
a fever dream or a brooding advanced decay?

the hollow of night drifts like the slowest sea of all
the edges failed every fragment rushed away
thrown around the centrifuge of space
disintegrating set of cells disintegrate space
woven back together with chemical thread
cord which makes us live

branches run down with bones of ancient stone
and roots grow up with the weight of the air
interminable ennui
a ragged cascade of neurons edging out
the roots were so shallow once free to stagnate
it slowly drains away to a level that can't be reached
decay non being urging death
roots grow down with ancient stone

swarms of purest crystal expand reality something high very pure and empty
above the lines of light and when we reach the highest point things fall apart in all forms created

time passed unused bestial and lonely
a gaunt catalogue of bones and hollows

the frame tested to destruction as veins tremble and secrete
but what if time is the disease an essence of discarded nothing

roots grow up with ancient stone
interminable ennui
branches run down with bones of air
cascading neurons
urging death decay and non being
stagnant relics
free to suck the marrow of time or nothing.

6. Transmissions

we think we know things and are close to mastery yet time passes
we have become gods knowing what is good and evil and so
we live with the knowledge of death
sublime intoxication
will this destroy me? rot my body? groin to dry, catch my thoughts in rots?
the more I know the more I need to get me through
sublime intoxication

when did the future become a threat?
the past has been destroyed
the war is not meant to be won
all history turns to plastic
scraped clean and re-inscribed
some things are so corrupt that
the only clean act is nihilism
as we slip and disintegrate
layer by layer
if we don't build we must burn
civilisation is the infection
where we revere the sticky spoor of blood
these are brutal times