Trapped Against Testo
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Testo Trapped Against
Swing the wax cradle
in the burning tree
lay flat in rusted cage
pale moon of a half face
waking
yellowed up by fear
He is the thing he hates
Every swing releases the scent of blackened spice
fast sweep of hiding
feeding up the sky
Crystal splinter
and hiss against the sun
in the burning tree
lay flat in rusted cage
pale moon of a half face
waking
yellowed up by fear
He is the thing he hates
Every swing releases the scent of blackened spice
fast sweep of hiding
feeding up the sky
Crystal splinter
and hiss against the sun
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