Genus: Crustulolus
Could the young Dendobolus be alive?
Tomahawk headless, like the chills
My soul is well and warm
The first time I feared the hole
In truth, it was fine
Silent, soft, no bones to abuse
The bane of the trade
Lost and found unkind
Now my heart-pump breaks inside
Of my organs discarded
I found a better place to hide
Inside the compound
I shall just stay gone
Human molecule
Devolution, bereaved by the robot blast
My soul is alive
Broken down, reborn
The leather serves the reflex
It gets so fine
I was once a man
I'm the streamers' god
The bane of the trade
Lost and found unkind
As the waves burst through my sides
Of my organs, they joy
All my skin now falls aside
Safe from compound
I shall do pay good
Silence
Silence, I yield the composition
Silence
Strength imaginable by the storm
Silence
Rumbling no more, but in the unsteady
Silence
Silence
Silence
Silence
Silence
Silence
Silence
Silence
Silence
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