I’ve got a question for the hands who rule the world. Is you’re ambition to watch it burn? Why, when you hold us all would you choose to decide to let our grandeur fall to ruin and demise? Bury me under a mountain of beautiful things. Consumed debris, glorious waste; ash in my mouth. We try to pay debts with our blood, buying a life gladly sold to us all. Paper made to enslave, aimed to shatter our light. We’re designed to defray, collateral closure. We sow simple seeds planted deep meant to nourish our thirst. We must tend to the weeds who’ve spread through our garden. Why is the blood so cold, like splintered frozen ice? Sat atop gold thrones to observe death. Claw out existence from the rubble and the mire. See our backs grow strong, our hearts ache with desire. Bury me under a mountain of beautiful things. Consumed debris, glorious waste; ash in my mouth. We try to pay debts with our blood, buying a life gladly sold to us all. Paper made to enslave, aimed to shatter our light. We’re designed to defray, collateral closure. We sow simple seeds planted deep meant to nourish our thirst. We must tend to the weeds who’ve spread through our garden. We’re owned; wings cut off of such poor and unfortunate souls. Controlled by objectification of material. Bury me under a mountain of beautiful things. Consumed debris, glorious waste; ash in my mouth. Cherishing all that you want while wasting what you need. In slavery at least breath is free. It’s ash in my mouth.