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• Artiste: The Partisan Turbine
• Titre: Inertia
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Disorder, where swarms of the plague, slowly limp closer, with the unshaped. Discipline of the body, sentiments of hanging by a thread and torturing. Endorphins fall and relapse something so pure and so numbing. Seduced by those false lines, endure the hunger which is coming. Remains of crushed veins, exhumed to rise. Breathe discretely leave nothing in vain, Sleep deprevation in its prime would slaughter without need. Narrow gauge, fall deeply into the wounds with an ease closer to concaved misuse. Asphyxiation engulfed and infused with crippling discomfort to be abused. Disease, bastard king, you've led me to a, killing spree. It seeps slowly into my bones, releasing its pain. Torn, separate the skin from the bones, desecrate. It seeps into me gnawing the flesh from my face.