Grid blinking like a dying vape
Finally going straight, going clear
Going straight to the Iranian Strait of Hormuz
Removal of remains, body in a state
Casket lid closed, buried by the State
We show them bodies full of holes, they cry fake
Blood trickles down my ritual robes
I hit you over and over and over
Fellating my gun in the commode
End of the tour, it’s almost over; why did I come over?
Money trails and capers
Toxic vapes and flame’s vapours
Breadcrumbs to where a witch is staying
Gunning vermouth to remove my memories
Regression, weeping during therapy
Remembering, cold December, bringing death
Creeping along with the weapon, blackwinged.
Alchemisland 
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