In the Holymarsh

Justice that has been crumbling away in the chaos of time
is getting buried the messy noise

An ideology of confusion that no one could make straight
Has getting more and more clear with the crying of self-scorn

Cant cope with my burden of the described logic
And would imitate my Vituperative criticism in a malice

Resistance. What's getting under the burst into eruption of worth of mine
A marsh of my soul what is changing to pollution as vomitus
The matter of blazed about
Such about god and eternity worth and due
Now it's all just bustling insistence without any contents