Visions of Pain

A prick a prod it's the end of the line The wrong kind of dream that water still isn't wine Gone Golgothic my friend it is bent it is torn More than clear that you're here to suck it up from the floor The rabble they grope in gladness they crush My every ideal but I'm no longer touched I'm whiter than milk a plant a seed A growth agape the reason you plead A stiff a crutch it's the end of a prime The end of a stump it's a waste of your time It's anaemic to taste it is stale it is done It is blight it is clear that you're here to be shunned They cattle they stoop in madness they rush I froth at the mouth but I'm no longer touched I'm whiter than milk a prat a weed A bum a flash the source of all need It's your dead town spice it's the size of your mum It's a break in the keel it's awake it is numb Still my brother insists that we stay on the march Through his vision of pain to the end of my heart Visions of Pain To the end of my heart The lid the sty the press and the prang The softness of sin the back of a hand A temple of kicks at the mouth of a night A corona of lust that is gone with the light A loin a crack a knack a sham It's a year it's a day it is under a gram The tip of a tongue all lathered in spite And a mind that won't stop it's the flood it's the flood Beneath beyond before be-twixt A claim an heir your future won't fix Still my brother insists that we stay on the march Through this vision of pain to the end of my heart Visons of pain To the end of my heart I got a sore throat in my gut And a headache in my loins