Age of Excuse III

The stench of zeitgeist Is the incense of discarded shrines As the corpses put on powder and rouge So that the hoax can proceed Ever sidewards A cheaped out incarnation into a shopworn sarx The soul congeals into a grimy lump Substance of the world, dreary and pale At the feet of a spirit detached Between the grinder and the abattoir Such are the landscapes of grief Grayness and glitz Glitter and gehinnom Between tedium and fright Such is the song of the nether world The hissing of rats And the jarring chants of angels A sacrifice to the gutter gods Squandered redemption, misplaced grace As an ailing mole burrowing in Eden Living, breathing, downfall Between the grinder and the abattoir Such are the landscapes of grief Grayness and glitz Glitter and gehinnom Between tedium and fright Such is the song of the nether world The hissing of rats And the jarring chants of angels It's a land of sun gone down In a comical grandeur A sluggish danse macabre Hyenas waltzing about Would a new flood please finally come? A real rain and an assortment of plagues And when all is said and done Even the Devil won't care enough to spit in the mud