The End of Flesh

This is way the flesh ends not in burning or dust Not in a whimper but a scream As you see I am an Artiste and such, Not in paint but flesh and blood, bone Hearing the voices talk, words of wrath and greed I feel their call, crawl deep into my mind, I intone Burrowing like maggots into my spine This is the way the flesh will end in the cry of the damned Oh the pleas, such sweet music my victims make Crimson on my delicate fingertips, I taste Oh what a rush don’t you think I’m just an artist a traveler in spirit really On my way to the holly-caust To see the pyres of some mad American empire Turn to ash and dust My blades cast a fine rust This is the end of flesh and bones, souls Crimson is such a good color on you Tis stark against your pale flesh Delicate like China's pure white dust Oh how you scream so Hush that delicate mouth This is the way the flesh will end In the rhythm of my blades Fresh crimson spins, crushed An Artist of flesh n bone, blood, & still-life Don’t you think this glorious, such a trip Oh to think I’m just a passenger on his ship Of life, can you hear their screams? This is way the flesh ends not in burning or dust But in the lines made in flesh, silver sharp blades cut Can’t you see I am an Artist Not in paint but in flesh blood, n bone Hearing the voices talk, words of wrath and greed Oh the sweet screams I feel the call, words burrow deep into my mind, Piercing like daggers deep into my spine This is the way the flesh will end Not in the whimpers of the meek But the righteous scream of the powerful Oh the pleas, of my victims Crimson on your delicate lips Oh what a rush don’t you think This is way the flesh ends not in burning or dust Not in a whimper but a scream As you see I am an Artiste and such, not in paint but flesh and blood, bone