Driving The Pack, From The Rear, With A Trumpet, With An Axe. Driving To The

Precipice, Windswept And Wet With Starving Neglect. Eternally Carving My Cause

On A Landscape That's Blighted And Scorched. I'm Blighted And Scorched With The

Truth, We Don't Listen, We Shoot, From The Blindside. It's A Landslide, But In

Hindsight, I Thought It Was Easier. But It's All Much Too Late To Turn Back, I

Must Face An Eternally Fateless Way In A Place Where My Orders Echo My Torturous

Ghosts. In A Space With No Windows, I'm Counting The Touch. All This Time To

Reflect On My Crimes To Humanity. I'm Screaming Profanities, Just Give Me A

Chance To Start Over Again. I Confess, Yes, I'll Do It Again.