This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation...
As the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent.
To the piercing light that sears our hearts;
To the sickness that plagues our spirits...
I cannot revere in this blind acceptance and falter in [bad word] 

Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
Heal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught.
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this putrid flesh.

Nothing here, nobody there...
Erroneous illness shouting.
The outcry reviles this tattered soil...
Drowning the world in filth and distortion.

Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
Heal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught.
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this putrid flesh.

I’ll leave my conscience to die.
barrenness of dreams and anticipation;
Life and hope shrivel into the void.

Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this putrid flesh.

In this pantheon of sorrow,
We are everything, yet nothing!
And as long we’re breathing,
The burden devoid of conclusion!

Unaided I slither – ravaged, silent and alone.
I smoulder in anxious strife; I decline these exhausted remnants of decay.
The world [bad word] to an end; a vast ocean of disease...
All hope is lost... or perhaps this is the cradle of salvation.

I must tranquil these turbulent waters.
No more expressions shall leave my trait...
No further words shall be spoken.
This illness they conceived broke my tired wings.