Pity The Planet, All Joy Gone From

The Scythers, Time And Death, Helmed Locusts, Move Upon The Tree Of Breath

Pity The Planet, All Joy Gone From This Sweet Volcanic Cone

It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

I Saw The Spiders Marching Through The Air, Swimming From Tree To Tree That Mildewed Day In Latter August When The Hay Came Creaking To The Barn.

Life Begins To Happen. My Hoppped Up Husband Drops His Home Disputes, And Hits The Streets To Cruise For Prostitutes