---

Phantom birth spasms.

Involuntary reach orgasm.

Ravaged despondent.

Feel the meat of a hundred fathers,

Forceful penetration passed through generations.

Crash land in your bones.

A ton of lust in one thrust from beyond,

Bequeath the streak on stained sheets.

Finger the pulse of unclean streets.

Weak priests and altered boys

Race war, face whore, sex toys.

Meat wreath, subhuman creeps stretch your soul, red and worn.

Seedful stains.

Haunted cavity.

Drain your soul umbilically.

Leave you withered, weak before the world.

These walls speak of gashes that reek of the unwashed meat of a hundred fathers.

Disrobed apparitions.

Violent sex positions

Phoned, boned, and disowned.

Cry into your own hands so alone.

Prophylactics fitting all too tight,

Tenderly kissed and fucked into the light.

Inseminated discreetly and deprived of your menstrual blessing.

Swearing you to secrecy and eyeing you while you're undressing.

CREEP, CREEP FAIL  (x4)

You kick and flail on the altar.

Private parts are public domain, public fro mane.

Rapists retreat to tell stories in purgatory.

Unspeakable sexual conquests.

Rapists rule the world with divine right.

Ravaged, regretless... No signs of stress.

"The sauce is the Cross" -ZG