Burnt Patriarch

Your worlds distorted, so it's been recorded As if I was wearing static instead of leather While I am clearing the obstacles you're smearing Stabbed between my shoulders I soldier on Blood transporting the feeling you're aborting I have grown; you hover still low to the ground This tension beyond comprehension Fractures priority and the Majority is left unfound Removing the clay where we lay like a fetus A haven grave and dark Here no one can see us but will always need us Night of the furnace, burnt patriarch Escaping but remaining Your scapegoat with a weathered smile Lips half torn, Gluttony forlorn Disposing the exposing rot you left behind