Shovel

[netselfaxman]

Textured handle. Hold on, hold strong.
Digging between right and so wrong. Hold strong

Now that it's passed along, how will you face your god?
The conscience you've never known, atrophies your soul


Weathered, splintered. come on, dig on
Red cord round your throat for the con that you are
Begging for some kind of meaning
Fed on your last bit of breath as I squeezed
Cleansed now, open to receive

Struggle, it barely shows. How could I face a god?
conscience I've left alone, damning me


Come mend me. The shadows of my nightmare are calling


Strapped to the post for the con that you are
Twisting in deeper you're bleeding
Fed on your last will to call for reprieve
Nurturing my need

Struggle, it barely shows. How could I face a god?
Tethered to this block of stone, damning me

Selfish, pulled down, no breathing
Selfish, recall, no leisure
Selfish, darkness, no desire
Forced me, Forced me, Forced me