Lletres: Psyclon Nine. Better Than Suicide.

This cancer eats the filth away
Ran from slits so deep so dirty
Fed the vile the children's bane

Yes this pestilence this lovers dream
The flesh this plague assimilates
The end of all: this slate wiped clean

Eclipsing devotion with shallow disguise
They prey on the fruit of the one they despise

Better than suicide

Disorder guilds the human filth
Wrecked from fair perversity
The wicked frails at touch the ill

The children frisk in killing fields
Dark rivers of corrosion flow
And meet the shores of throes un-healed