They are born in the mettle of scavengers
They have learned the puppet art by licking their skulls
They have learned to mint their spine for wreched gold
They have watched the fire burning minds and words
They have waited enough to encash the burden of guilt
They have waited enough to peel away the nascent flowers
They have vaulted enough secret to hide the fire and ashes
They are born to the senile days of fertile lands and fertile days of senile lands
They have submitted their longer tongue to the goddess of silence and sickness
Fire and ashes will not wait for scavengers
Fire and ashes will not burn the plastic wealth of plastic bowls
Fire and ashes will not be born into the termites of paperworms
Fire and ashes will not spit on the holy vessels of their greedy lips
Fire and ashes will ignite their sweat and soils whoever they are, whatever they do
They have learned the puppet art by licking their skulls
They have learned to mint their spine for wreched gold
They have watched the fire burning minds and words
They have waited enough to encash the burden of guilt
They have waited enough to peel away the nascent flowers
They have vaulted enough secret to hide the fire and ashes
They are born to the senile days of fertile lands and fertile days of senile lands
They have submitted their longer tongue to the goddess of silence and sickness
Fire and ashes will not wait for scavengers
Fire and ashes will not burn the plastic wealth of plastic bowls
Fire and ashes will not be born into the termites of paperworms
Fire and ashes will not spit on the holy vessels of their greedy lips
Fire and ashes will ignite their sweat and soils whoever they are, whatever they do
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