Cripple Bastards Rending Aphthous Fevers
COMMENTARY
Four aphthas on my laringeal tissue,
brown flowers decorating my throat.
I can't talk, I can't breathe,
I CAN'T DIE... EVEN IF I'M WISHING IT.
I can't smile, I can't move,
I CAN'T DIE... EVEN IF I'M WISHING IT.
I can't drink, I can't sleep,
I CAN'T DIE... EVEN IF I'M WISHING IT.
I can't eat, I can't think.
Paralysed by pain, eyes confined to always the same,
always the same wall.
Discovering the limits of my endurance,
a mountain of hate exploding inside a half inch diameter fever.
(The song itself has no words, only growls and vocalized pain)