Skulls buried in boiling oil, burning the smell of angels, song so raw that dogs cant drink, their toenails, stuck in the dirt, so dont wait for me. Me I will want to be dead, if you dont bleed you your piss so sick. If metal bends on my teeth I will scream to hear it fall on the world. It drags on the concrete so raw, the angels song: can it be heard? Meditation of flesh.