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(Phil Anselmo)

Go slow

Cruel to himself and generous about it

Cruel to the world (it's) not hard to spot it

Can't give up

Shut up

On a tirade

Off the top of his head

So ripe becoming rotten

He's hit the wailing wall

To pass out hard upon

He's kissed the wailing wall

In the thrall of it all

Failed his name with no care to hide it

Failed escape it's documented

Instilled or distilled

The spike or the chill

It's immolation

The lust of non-existance

He's hit the wailing wall

To pass out hard upon

He's kissed the wailing wall

No lower heaven

For his bones

Nor handing life back

What it's owed

Caretaker careless

Of what he's sown

Porously reaching

His lowest low

The negative has just begun

Joining the war impossible...

In the thrall of it all

Headstone tells but nothing about him

Headstone reads two decades wasted

A funeral pyre

With no one to burn it

(And nobody attending)

Because self destruction brings misfortune

In the thrall of it all